Silver Gray Book I, Sylvia Short Sword
by Mechalich
Summary: An unusual situation tosses the Claymore Sylvia and the lady human warrior Tyrin together, as their travels continue each forces the other to explore hidden secrets and truths about their world and their fates.
1. First Stroke: Meeting Ambush

**Author's Intro: **This is a somewhat unplanned enterprise. Who knows where it will go. It is not yet connected directly to actual Claymore manga events, but it might become so.

**Silver-Gray**

First Stroke – Meeting Ambush

The scent grew strong as she approached the edge of the town with measured, clanking steps. The strength of that scent was rather ominous, and it stirred dark thoughts down at the base of Sylvia's contemplation, in the region below her perpetual vigilance and mission objectives, down where the forcefully contained emotions made a nasty briar patch.

It was not that things smelled bad, though a human, had they been able to detect this unnatural fragrance at such a distance, would surely recoil in disgust. A smell that was also part of yourself could not be so easily rejected, so Sylvia did not find it foul to her senses, the offense was entirely mental in nature, but no less furious for that.

The strength of the scent did not match what Sylvia had been told, and that was never good. Bad intelligence could get you killed; she'd seen it happen before to her comrades and had barely survived it herself on several occasions.

A single string of murders, one yoma only, that's what she'd been told, and her experience had given her no reason to doubt that. It was the most common setup and the most common mission, certainly, that was the type of mission she almost always received. They wouldn't have sent her against a group by herself; at least, Sylvia doubted she was trusted to accomplish that much.

But the scent only got stronger. It told a tale of much activity and as Sylvia stopped at the edge of the first buildings her hand went to the hilt of her sword, high over her right shoulder. Something was wrong. _Too much yoma stink_, she noted, laying out her thoughts in order, assessing the situation coldly, carefully. _There has too be more than one, and doing a lot of moving in its true form_. She shook her head. _This place is laden with yoki residue everywhere._ Looking out with the sixth sense she possessed, the ability to see the demon energy it appeared almost like a fog before her, a thin miasma hanging all about the streets of this place.

Silver eyes blinked, unable to believe it for a moment. People walked about beyond the outer buildings, conducting the business of the day. They seemed nervous, but any town that had gone through a string of yoma murders would be that way. No one acted normally when constantly wondering if they'd be the next to have their guts ripped out and eaten. Sylvia shook her head. _This looks like a nest_, she decided, gritting her teeth together. It was a horrid memory, an experience she faced only once, and without any eagerness to repeat. _How can it be a normal village? It is not a charade, these people are human._ Silver eyes could read that, and staring upon them, be truly certain.

It left only one conclusion: something was very wrong. Sylvia didn't like that conclusion. Patterns were preferable, they led to predictability. Predictable missions ended predictably, with dead yoma. Wrongness could get her killed. _As much as this life isn't very fun, I don't plan on dying yet._ Sylvia recalled those old words again, the ones she had made her own, along with the second part. _The sword still cuts, so I have to keep swinging it. _

Slowly she walked into the town.

Her armor clanked as she went of course, it always did. The metal-heels sounded when they struck hard earth and the occasional rock, and pieces of her armor clicked together as she moved. That was fine, even deliberate. The uniform was not designed for stealth, drawing the eye of both friends and foe was important, it had several uses. As always, it drew eyes.

People turned and stared, as they always did, and the muttering began.

"Silver-eyed witch…half-demon…killers…Claymore…" It was so characteristic, and Sylvia had heard it all before, many times. She was long resigned to it, letting it wash over her, not even getting close to reaching her emotions. Instead she scanned the crowd, searching, smelling the scent and seeking with her special sight for the hidden foe that waited. It might not be with the rapidly forming crowd, but then it might be. Perhaps one time in three the yoma would go for the direct approach, attempt to attack immediately, thinking to catch the enemy unaware, or to use human bodies as shields. In this place, with all the evidence of activity, Sylvia was doubly alert, holding the hilt of her sword openly, knowing the extra split-second it took to reach up might not be something she could spare.

As the crowd gathered Sylvia stopped moving, but said nothing. People muttered things to her, but it was nothing important. She largely ignored them, instead scanning around, searching. The whole town reeked of yoma, for even if the scent was not truly foul to her, it was overpowering in its spread here. _I'm in the horse's stall, not the paddock_, Sylvia realized. _This whole town is its lair, but how is that possible?_

"Ah, the Claymore has come, very good…very good," a man in better clothes than the rest approached, and everyone else made way for him. He carried a bulging sack. "We're so glad you made it here, things are very bad." He reached forward, extending the sack toward her. "Here is the promised payment."

Sylvia began a motion of her left had to wave him off, and then stopped. _He's standing too far!_ She noted with a start, for the man had his legs extended forward and his arms outstretched all the way, uncomfortably. The rest of the crowd had also moved back far. With this realization, experience and instinct took over.

She danced backward, ripping out her sword as she did so. The motion was unnatural, and lacking in grace, but Sylvia would never care. Getting her weapon to hand was more important, especially when the crossbow bolt struck the ground where she had been standing.

The Claymore flexed her massive blade, the blade that gave her kind the name they'd never asked for. It was fully as long as she was tall and as broad as her thigh despite the brutally sharpened edge on each side. In a feat seemingly impossible for a thin woman, Sylvia held the blade easily with only her right hand. With a flex of the wrist she brought it across her body, shielding her face and the front of her right side not covered by the shoulder pauldron.

A pair of arrows clattered off the blade only an instant after it had taken that position.

Sylvia dodged and weaving, her feet sliding across the hard-packed earth of the town square in a formless evasion, her sword moving easily to intercept bolts and arrows. The shots came from rooftops and alleys, and as she moved it was not difficult for the Claymore to observe that all the shooters were human.

"What is this?" she called out to her assailants in a clear voice, strong and firm. She evaded easily enough, as the attacks were scattered and she could move freely to dodge or position her blade in the way, her inhuman strength and speed aiding her in the avoidance. "You'll never kill me like this, and why should you try?"

No human said anything, only kept up their attacks, but an answer did come.

"Because I CAN kill you!" it was a brutal roar, and came from a throat larger and deeper than any human's.

A massive figure charged out from a building to Sylvia's right, hurling a smashed door before its advance.

The Claymore did not slice the door in half, that would halve been a waste of motion, but simply smashed it aside with the flat of her blade. She already knew what waited behind it. _I begin to understand_, Sylvia thought with disgust and anger.

The yoma was built like all its kind, brutish and twisted. Half again as tall and broad as a man, ogre-built, with a goblin face and wide maw of fanged teeth, it reveled in its deadly power and brutal hunger with every step.

A clawed arm lashed out, reaching to rip Sylvia in half.

The Claymore pivoted and swung her sword back swiftly. The yoma blocked it with his right hand, and she was forced to yank the blade back, drawing space between them and a nasty gash along the palm.

It was a good tactic, injuring one of the yoma's arms and giving her the space to use her massive weapon and speed advantage fully. In a normal fight it would have worked well.

This wasn't a normal fight.

The first bolt took Sylvia in the left arm, the second smashed through the plates about her waist to lodge in her left hip.

Pain bit deep, scourging and stinging, raising fury, but Sylvia squelched it, though she could not avoid taking a half-step to recover her balance. The yoma before her came on, and went right to strike at her left side.

She swung rapid strokes and the demon dodged away. Normally that would be suicide, for Sylvia could have surged forward and impaled the creature with ease, but the arrows passing through made it impossible.

The yoma circled and more bolts and arrows flew through the square. Forced to divide her attention and struggling with her wounds, Sylvia barely avoided the twin threats of flying darts and being gutted by the yoma, who displayed the annoying talent of lengthening his arms like rubber, to extend many times the length of her sword.

"Damn!" Sylvia hissed through gritted teeth, weaving about through the combination threats. "What madness is this?"

The yoma laughed at her. "It looks like my trap got you good witch!"

Silently Sylvia had to admit she was in a bad situation. Yoma never wielded bows, and while many could form their bodies to attack from far off, she was not used to dealing with these little streaking bolts. Worse, the shooters where humans, she could not read their yoki to gauge a sense of their actions, and so had to rely on her senses alone, a thoroughly inadequate measure when faced with attacks spread on all sides. Moments later, as she managed to lop away a few of the yoma's fingers, she took another strike, this time an arrow to the back.

"Aim for her guts and head fools!" the yoma shouted, directing this humans who for some impossible reason obeyed. It smiled at her with its gaping maw. "This is funny; you can't even strike them back."

Sylvia spat, trying to regain equilibrium by moving toward a wall, but the yoma anticipated the move and forced her back. The creature was not exceptionally powerful, alone the fight would have ended in moments, but it had cunning and had devised this trap well. It knew too that the rules of her organization meant Sylvia could not kill any of her human attackers, though she might have cut their bows apart. That made attacking them harder, and the whole situation more dangerous.

_I won't die from arrow blows_, she thought, _should I just go for the kill?_ She let forth some of her own yoma power them, the dark energy seething within, and her eyes changed and the world yellowed as the irises took on that golden sheen. Dark emotions washed over her with that power, demanding both more and more unnatural strength and feeding the urge for violence. Sylvia forced herself to remain in control, attacking wildly would not help.

She dashed to the right side, trying to gauge the reactions of the archers and crossbowmen now shooting at her. Without training to fight such weapons, and she indeed had none, it had to be determined now. If things worked out right she could just go for the killing stroke and let the sharp barbs pierce her in the process. Gruesome, and certainly it would sting and scourge, but perhaps possible.

The yoma surged with her, and the Claymore's blade flashed and danced about her, moving fluidly in her two hands, to block reaching claws, streaking arrows, and punishing bolts. Defense was the strength of the silver-eyed warrior, and she blocked all blows, dancing about with her blade flashing, forming the illusion of a far lighter weapon as it slid through hands strengthened by demon energy.

Nevertheless she had to duck down as a bolt passed through the space her head occupied. The enemy was too fast; its numbers gave it speed, while creating a lack of synchronicity that made everything more difficult.

The yoma, sensing a chance, lunged forward, charging Sylvia's massive blade.

Hurriedly the steel flashed up and back, a cross-stroke to drive the creature back, threatening to sever the outreaching arms.

One sickening red-purple appendage was indeed slashed hard just below the elbow, and demon flesh tore and cut as the hard steel edge ripped through, severing the limb in a gruesome spurt of dark and foul blood.

The yoma part of Sylvia reveled in that moment, and she smiled grimly, pushing ahead, daring to hope.

Instead the yoma laughed.

The left hand, fingers lengthened to be solid daggers themselves, clamped down, not on Sylvia's white-garbed flesh, but on the edge of her blade. The mighty weapon was stuck fast.

Only too late did the Claymore realize what her demonic adversary had planned. It had known her backwards stroke lacked strength and had deliberately sacrificed one arm in order to take all the momentum from her blow, so her sword could be caught and immobilized.

Desperately Sylvia twisted and yanked, sliding to one side and attempting to lever her blade free.

Arrows and bolts fell around her, and the yoma yanked back. It could not tear the sword from the small hands of the female warrior, but it could use its far greater bulk to move her body in a direction it chose.

A crossbow bolt bit deep down into Sylvia's lower back. It penetrated hard, without any armor, and the pain washed over her, terrible and horrible. It was not just the pain that hurt then, but the realization that she was doomed. She dared not drop her sword of the yoma would rip into her, but stuck to it like this she was an easy target, robbed of the speed and skill that enabled her to dodge many of the human's missiles.

In moments a second bolt joined the first, and then an arrow. Sylvia twisted her body to avoid a half dozen more, including two strikes aimed at the head, a potentially lethal area even with such small weapons. Pain rose high, though she had avoided blows to any critical areas by carefully positioning her flesh when she could not dodge. _I'm dead_, Sylvia realized. _Death forward, death behind, and slow whittling down to nothing here._ All of her mind and body raged at this realization. She stared out at the laughing inhuman eyes of the yoma and anger burned through her. _Think you're so smart don't you, scum?_ Her thoughts melted into her anger, and into the flow of yoki power rushing through her. _Maybe I'm dead, but I'll take you with me!_

Sylvia reached deep inside and pulled up more of her yoki energy, feeling her muscles cord and veins stretch as the power flowed through her body, shifting it, making it appear more and more like that of a yoma's distorted, sickening. She hated this, hated the feelings and distortions of this level of power, but she would need the strength, the force to rip the blade of her sword free and slice the yoma in half. It would be a wildly exposed and slow move, she'd take a bolt to the head for certain, but though Sylvia did not desire to die, she'd not sit quietly and let the enemy have its satisfaction.

The moment approached, and knuckles strained as her grip tightened. _A pity,_ Sylvia thought. _I do not want this ending._

Then an arrow that should have come: did not.

Sylvia paused, abruptly shifting her head, daring to look at the alleyway hiding place of an archer whose shots she had timed and anticipated, expected, wondering what had happened.

"Disgusting!" the shouted word, accompanied by a bloody corpse sliding to the ground, made things abundantly clear. "Sick! Depraved!" the voice who yelled was clear and strong, and distinctively female. "Humans who side with yoma are lower than fleas!"

As the corpse fell away it revealed an armored figure, all in the hollow gray of burnished steel plating. Her left arm bore a shield, straight at the top and rounded at the bottom, to cover the forearm. Many blows marked its solid use, as did the now blood-coated sword carried in the other hand, a single-edged but broad bladed weapon of a design unfamiliar to Sylvia, but one clearly made for strong slashing cuts. The Claymore could observe nothing of this strange woman's face, for it was hidden by her helm, but wisps of pale and thin blond hair leaked out the back.

Everyone had paused briefly to look upon this new arrival, halting the stalemate of battle for a long breath, but only so much.

"Wretch!" a man's voice cried and the launch of a crossbow bolt accompanied it. Sylvia judged the sound, and knew it was not directed at her, but at this strange new arrival.

The armored woman ran forward, moving with surprisingly speed that revealed a well-trained strength toward the demon and its foe as they struggle in the center. A simple move of her shield deflected away the spontaneous and ill-considered shot, and the charge did not slow. "Strike Claymore!" this woman called; her voice powerful and vibrant. "I will guard your back."

"Ha!" the yoma dared laugh. 'Like you could-"

Sylvia drew on the full strength of the yoki energy she had unleashed for the first time. Her blade jerked and pulled, then ripped free of the yoma's hand leaving lashed stumps where fingers had remained. She swung the blade wide in a continuous motion, bending her to pull it upwards and then hurl it back down and in, as quickly as possible, before the wily demon could attempt to retreat. Her back was wide open, her stranded hair shone free, revealing her unprotected head. Arrows and bolts were already on their way.

Shield and sword cast a shadow on the Claymore's back as the armored figure moved in with uncanny smoothness behind Sylvia, matching the Claymore's movements to slide with her as the great blade completed its downstroke. Impacts clattered against steel, but none passed through.

"Damn you!" the yoma howled as Sylvia's blade arced through its wretched body, slicing at the narrowest point of the waist, cleaving it clear in two.

Sylvia gasped the, and forced the yoki down, clamping it away beneath seething emotions, forcing her body to return to its best human facsimile. Yet she did not stop moving or take in any relief. This battle might not yet be over. Her eyes darted about, and she found the nearest of the archers.

Moving with lightning speed, Sylvia charged the man, who struggled to raise his crossbow and got off only a widely shot that sailed past. Fear reflected deep in his eyes as the Claymore bore down upon him.

The great blade slashed through the crossbow them, leaving it a mangled ruin, and came to rest on the poor man's neck. He was obviously no soldier to Sylvia's eyes, where his training had come from she did not know, but his skill with the crossbow had not been inadequate. She wondered if her attackers might be a former group of bandits. Such depraved persons might be more likely to side with whatever promises the yoma had made them.

"Y-y-you can't kill me," he stammered, clutching uselessly to the shattered remnants of his weapon. "H-h-he t-t-told u-s-s-s, there's rules."

"An unfortunate truth," Sylvia hissed coldly, for she wanted to gut this fool and all the others, now scattering in fear, who had dared to side with such a monster.

"But I can," the voice of the armored woman hissed from behind Sylvia. Her slightly curved and broad edged sword, as long as her arm, slashed down.

Blood splattered, there was a gurgling noise, and then silence as another body hit the packed earth. Sylvia noted with her keen hearing that those few others who had not already fled now ran away in abject terror, leaving their weapons behind.

"Are you sure you wished to do that?" Sylvia asked carefully, turning to the armored woman. She noted the woman's physique as she did so. It was strong, but sleek. Wider in the body than the artificial thinness of Sylvia's kind, but still holding compact power. She could tell that this woman was highly skilled for a human warrior, and had noted it even in their short combat.

"I'm sure," the voice was hard bitten, and full of angry conviction, more strong feeling than Sylvia herself would have dared to muster. Briefly she was slightly jealous of the freedom to show that anger, even as her own long established control clamped down again. "I wish I could have made them all pay as they deserved, instead of just two of them. How come you don't care?"

"I do but-" Sylvia stopped. "Nevermind," she was not ready to say anything to this strange woman. "I am being foolish. You have saved my life." That much was clearly true, without this warrior's intervention she'd be lying on the ground with a crossbow bolt through her head, a fatal wound even for a Claymore. "I will do what I can to repay it." Without saying anything more Sylvia wiped the yoma blood from her blade and sheathed her sword behind her once more. Then, as the woman looked on strangely, she reached down and yanked out the arrows and bolts buried in her flesh one by one. It hurt immensely, the pain screamed and howled through her mind, but she bit down and forced herself to ignore it. The pain faded swiftly in any case, along with the blood and the wounds sealed themselves away and the regenerative powers of her body took over. The wounds hurt, but they were not serious, little punctures were fairly unimportant unless they hit vital areas. In moments the blood was gone and only tears in the white uniform Sylvia wore remained.

"Amazing…" the woman whispered involuntarily as she observed.

Sylvia said nothing, for what could she say?

"Anyway, looks like everyone's gone," the woman said, and she returned her large blade to a hanging loop at her left hip. It had no scabbard, but hung loose and ready. Then she took her helmet off.

Sylvia was surprised at the face that stared back at her. It was frightfully like that of her own kind. She had pale blond hair, stern focused features that were youthful but not young, piercing eyes, and thin mouth and nose. That the eyes were a pale blue-gray instead of silver was the only real difference. _No, that's not all,_ Sylvia decided a moment later. _She's not like us, she still has happiness._ The young woman had given her a soft smile with genuine warmth that no half-human, half-yoma could manage. It made Sylvia very sad. It was all the more impressive that she had regained steady composure so quickly after the brutal encounter. The mark of someone trained and experienced in combat.

The woman moved to speak, but there was a sound behind them. Both ladies spun, the human only an instant behind the Claymore, upping Sylvia's assessment of her abilities further. This young lady knew what she was doing in every sense.

The mayor stood at the end of the alley. He looked somewhat the worse for wear, covered in dust and grit, and his expression was filled with terror, though Sylvia was not certain is that was of them, or of having been involved in a failed trap. "You killed the yoma," he managed to speak with a minimum of stuttering. "So here is the payment."

"You conspired with the yoma to trap me here," Sylvia stated flatly. "I can sense the yoki pervading the town; everyone knew the creature was here, it must have walked about in its true form regularly." The mayor blanched and looked ill, but the Claymore did not stop her recitation. "I suspect you all made some bargain with it, probably to kill travelers. The request was intended to let it fake its death along with mine, so the cover could go on forever." From the man's reaction she could tell she had hit the mark. "You people are despicable. Even a half-human half-yoma cannot compare to what you have done." The cold hatred, a feeling Sylvia had never felt for humans before, seethed through her, but she did nothing. Instead, she spoke words she'd said many times before. "A man in black will come for the payment, be sure to give it to him then."

"You're not going to punish them?" the woman standing beside Sylvia asked incredulously.

"I have business with Yoma only," Sylvia answered for her benefit, not the mayor's. "I cannot act against humans. I know of no case like this from my memory or teaching, but I am sure the organization will take some action. What they chose to do is not my concern." Sylvia walked on by the mayor then, refusing to look at him at all. This place sickened her, for it presented a new depravity to one who had thought she knew them all.

Sylvia was not surprised when the female warrior followed her out of town, and was indeed glad for it. Beyond the ring of buildings she stopped and turned back to her. "Apologies, I did not want to speak in that place."

"Awfully formal for a soldier aren't you?" the woman cocked her head, swirling her empty helmet about in one hand. She'd picked up a loose knapsack on the way out of town, apparently containing her belongings.

"I'm not a soldier, I hunt yoma, that's all," Sylvia answered. "But I am discourteous, you saved my life and I evade you. I am Sylvia, and you have my thanks." She gave a nod of her head to the other woman.

"I'm Tyrin," her smile was bright. "Don't worry about it, I'm glad I could help, and that town was sick."

"How did you come to be there?" Sylvia asked, wondering, for it had not been a random encounter. The woman's armor marked her as a guard or soldier from a sizeable city, and her skill showed she knew something of combat. These were rare things, especially in a woman, and she had less reason to be in a random town than Sylvia herself did.

"There were rumors that a Claymore had been seen heading that direction," Tyrin answered, her smile fading. "I've been looking for one of you."

"Why?" Sylvia was very puzzled. "We don't take requests, if that's what you're looking for."

"No, it's not that, it's…it's difficult to explain." She shook her head, letting the waving blond hair that reached to the back of her neck flow with her motions. "Anyway, now that I've found you, could I travel with you, for a while anyway? I want to learn about Claymores." It all poured out in a rush.

_Wants to learn about us?_ Sylvia wondered, confused. Most people feared her kind, and not without some justification. _We are erratic, dangerous, and more than just part monster._ Sylvia shook the dark thoughts away. She owed this woman, owed her a life, the only thing a Claymore really has of any value anyway. She could not refuse. "I cannot speak for my superiors, but as I owe you my life, I could not refuse this request. But why? To stay near a Claymore is almost begging for death, or so most would see it."

Tyrin's face took on a look of great pain, not pain of the flesh, but the true sorrow of the soul that only humans could bear, Sylvia did not think she could summon such emotions up anymore, but it wrenched at her to see such deep sadness, tearing away her formal mask and making her feel a need to comfort this woman, one so like one of her own people, and yet not. "My sister…" Tyrin stumbled over the words, stopped, and then spoke again, tears tumbling from her eyes. "My parents, they were killed in a fire, and my sister…my sister…" she steeled herself visibly. "They took her to become one of you."

Your…sister…" Sylvia mouthed the words in shock. It was something she'd never heard of before. The organization made its warriors from orphans, the children of yoma attacks, banditry, or any kind of disaster. That was what had happened to Sylvia, and it was what she'd heard happened to everyone else to don the white uniform and carry the great sword. Having a sister was hard to believe. "But you must be over twenty…" Sylvia nudged, trying the route of logic first.

"I'm twenty-three," Tyrin nodded. "She's fourteen years younger than me, but we share both parents, and she was my only sister. I was away when it happened; I haven't seen her since before the accident two years ago. I don't know what's happened to her," she sobbed slightly, a motion awkward in this strong woman and unfitting to her armored figure, with its many carefully interlocking and positioned steel plates, maximum protection while still allowing as much freedom of movement as possible.

Slyvia was silent, unsure of what to say. She thought she understood, perhaps, what Tyrin desired. At least she sympathized_. I have no sisters, but to have one taken away to become like us? _It was a horrid thought. _To try to learn our ways, to know us and be ready to love her sister when she meets again, that is a truly great goal._ It made Sylvia feel weak with her static life of simplistic violence, going nowhere.

"Well I owe you," Sylvia said once more, extending her hand. "Travel with me if you wish. I will try to help you as I can."

"Thank you," Tyrin clasped Sylvia's gloved hand with her gauntleted one, but it even through the leather and studs of the grip, the Claymore felt warmth flow into her, and she smiled with genuine enthusiasm for the first time in easy remembrance. "I hope we can be friends Sylvia," Tyrin added.

_Friends?_ _That would be something indeed._ She said nothing, but silently dared to have a bit of hope. "Let's go, I want to get away from this stinking town."

They walked on together, metal heels automatically coming to click as one; marching in time.


	2. Second Stroke: Cold Cleansing

Second Stroke – Cold Cleansing

Sylvia's thoughts were split down two very different roads as she walked through the late afternoon, leaving the farmfields that surrounded the accursed town and entering once more into the forest. The first pathway was truly dark, the cooperation of humans and yoma, a foul concept indeed, and one she had never even contemplated before. It seemed so frightfully impossible, but the day's events had proven it real. A fortuitous encounter was all that had managed to save her from dying at the hands of such an impossible alliance. The Claymore truly hoped this had been a one time aberration, an erratic event that would not repeat itself. She worried though, where yoma were concerned, experience had taught her that it was almost always worse than you dared to imagine. For now she tried to avoid dwelling on it until the chance to ask a few key questions presented itself.

Thankfully there was something else to think about. Though this pathway was not particularly pleasant, neither was it openly ominous, indeed, it was simply curious to Sylvia's reckoning, and that was a matter wondrous in its own right. _A woman who does not fear me_, it was an amazing thing to think on, looking at Tyrin's armored figure out of the corner of her silver eye. _And I owe her my life_, Sylvia was controlled enough not to shake her head thinking that, but it was very strange. To owe her continued existence to another of her kind, that she might have been prepared for, though somewhat ashamed of, but to a human was different.

Tyrin's pace had quickly locked in with Sylvia's own, so that they clicked and clanked together in time, something the half-human half-yoma had only experienced with others of her kind previously, but she was grateful for it. Had they been out of time with each other the dueling sounds would have been truly grating.

Sylvia had expected the female warrior to launch into a stream of questions as soon as they were some distance from the town, but instead the pair marched essentially in silence. This didn't bother the Claymore, as it was how she usually traveled, accompanied only by the thoughts in her head, long trained never to speak them out loud, but she had not expected it from Tyrin, whose eyes held many inquiries eagerly sought and face shown with a bright and engaging way in many moments. _Is this the training of a human soldier?_ Sylvia wondered. She did not know, knew really next to nothing about human ways of warfare. Still, the silence was fine with her; there would be time to talk later when they stopped for the night. For now the conversation was limited to a few serviceable remarks about paths and obstacles.

As the day wore on and the sunset came to dominate the western sky the pair moved fully into the woodlands. Tyrin bore up well, despite the obvious weight her armor and gear must be. She was clearly used to marching with it long distances, which boded well for the future. _Battle is still likely to kill her_, Sylvia sighed silently. _But at least I should be able to keep my pace._

Sylvia charted a course downslope to a riverbed, and there found a clearing. "I suppose we can stop here for the night," she declared.

Tyrin gave her a questioning look. "There's still some light left, and why this particular spot?" she asked.

"It is fairly secure," Sylvia answered. "Besides," she explained carefully. "As yet I have no real destination, just a direction of this side of the town."

"Really?" Tyrin asked, putting down her knapsack, unbuckling her blade, and then starting to take off the pieces of her armor. "You don't have a place to go?"

Sylvia shook her head, and began removing her own weaponry and tack, grimacing at the many holes in her uniform as she did so. It was beyond patching with her simple sewing kit, she'd have to wait for a new one again. In the meantime she'd dunk herself in the river this evening, once they got a fire going. Otherwise the blood sticking to it would get really bad. That had happened once before, an unpleasant memory, and not one she was eager to repeat.

"Since this job is finished I have to wait to get another one," the Claymore explained to her companion as she stacked her shoulder pauldrons and hip guards and leaned her sword against them. "That may take some time. There's a village two days north of here where we could stop if the interval is long, but there's no need to hurry otherwise."

"How will you know you have a new job?" Tyrin wondered, her face betraying a hunger for knowledge, but not completely bereft of suspicion. "They say Claymore requests are sent to some mysterious location and nobody really knows how they get answered."

_She is quick witted_, Sylvia decided, and would have smiled, had that been an expression she used anymore. "Representatives from our organization come and contact us," she told the other woman. "I'm afraid I can't let you see such things."

"That's alright," Tyrin replied, managing a weak smile of her own. "I'm sure almost all my expectations are unreasonable. That you have the honesty to tell me when something is forbidden; I appreciate it." She stacked her helmet atop the last of her equipment. Her voice when she spoke again no longer held any sadness. "Do you have a preference to gather wood or build the fire? Or should we flip a coin?"

The simple, survivable aspect of this question took Sylvia back for a moment. _I guess…_she mind turned hurriedly through many strange and foreign scenarios. _This is what traveling with a companion will be like. _Hesitantly she replied. "I'll gather wood; I suspect you're better at fire-building than I am."

"Why's that?" Tyrin asked idly, already starting to scrape clear a piece of ground with a plate of her armor that obviously did regular shovel duty.

"Well," Sylvia thought about it. "I cannot say for certain, but it is always my impression that humans always build a fire, even in the worst conditions," she was cautious with her words. "For myself, I only build a fire when heat is useful, like tonight, since clearing out this blood will be wet and cold." Noticing Tyrin's continual activity even as she spoke, Sylvia too turned to her task, resolving to work and converse at the same time, though that was another somewhat unusual practice for her.

"You mean you don't bother when it rains, stuff like that?" Tyrin was not facing Sylvia as she spoke, but the Claymore could not help but feel the other woman conveyed far more warmth with every line.

"Yes," Sylvia answered. "That is the truth of it. Rain, snow, wind, or even lack of energy, all these are reasons to forgo fire for me." She had managed an armful of tinder and kindling as a start and walked over to pass it to Tyrin.

"Thanks," the soldier dropped the pieces down and quickly began to configure them by size and type, already forming the basics of a fire. Sylvia could tell she had done this many times before, could probably do the task in a blinding rainstorm on a moonless night. "But without a fire, what do you do about food? Just eat biscuits and such?"

"Food…well," Sylvia paused looking carefully at Tyrin. The other woman said nothing, only took out a small metal pouch from a hidden pocket in the tight-fitting padded garments that formed the base of her armor. From these she took flint and steel and firestarters and began the process of lighting the basics of a fire. There was no suspicion there, and no pressure to speak anything that could not be easily offered.

In the end Sylvia supposed it was not a secret, and it would have been more or less impossible to hide anyway. Nevertheless, she made a broader resolution then. _I will keep only those secrets I absolutely must_, she swore. _For the rest this woman who has saved my life and claims a sister among my comrades deserves to know the truth_. The Claymore could recall Tyrin's statement that they be friends. She did not know if that was possible, or if she even dared to hope it was possible, but she would do what she could; the truth, or as much of it as could be managed, would be a place to start.

Gathering up more wood, Sylvia offered her explanation. "No we do not just eat such things as biscuits, though the little food I carry is of that kind," she acknowledged Tyrin's intuition. "It is simply not necessary for us to eat very much. A mouthful or so every few days is enough to sustain me, and I could go without food for a week or more without trouble. We only take in more when seriously injured, and even that is not much compared to a human appetite."

"Really?" Tyrin turned and looked to Sylvia, and caught the truth there in the Claymore's unchanging expression. "Nice," she giggled slightly, a girlish sound in her otherwise aware and mature countenance. "That must be convenient, not having to carry food, not having to cook meals every night. I bet you don't have to worry about freezing to death on cold nights either do you?"

"No, we don't, at least," Sylvia amended hastily. "I have never heard of one of us dying by exposure. We do feel the cold though, so it may be possible."

"Damn," Tyrin whistled softly as the fire took shape and she added more wood after Sylvia brought another bundle over. "I almost wish I could travel like that, it would be so much easier. I've been on a winter campaign and gods the cold…"

"I do not think the advantages outweigh the price," Sylvia spoke softly, almost without realizing it.

Tyrin's warm face stiffened instantly, and colored with shame. She turned deliberately to Sylvia. "I'm sorry, truly, I never meant to say that-"

"I understand," Sylvia cut her off, not wanting her to speak more. She did not think she could withstand being pitied by this woman. "It is not your fault. Indeed, it is no one's fault, what is, is."

"Right, well…" Tyrin shuffled about the fire, now flickering with yellow flames. "Anyways, I've always found a fire to be a comfort in rain or snow, even when you might be able to get by without it. I'll show you some tricks to build it next time. We're going pretty good here, I can take care of the rest. I've got some sausage to cook up for dinner, and some biscuits and carrots to throw in. You should go clean yourself off first. I got lucky with the battle paint so I'll wait a bit."

"But you do not have a pan or pot," Sylvia remarked carefully. "How will you cook?"

Tyrin walked over to her stack of armor and flipped up her shield with her foot. She gave Sylvia a wicked grin beneath the frame of her wavy hair, glinting in the firelight. "Pots are for soldiers who like to march with extra weight."

"How ingenious," Sylvia nodded to her companion. Thinking on it she suspected that cooking over a piece of one's armor was common enough among human soldiers, but it was still ingenious how Tyrin used pieces of her gear for so many purposes. Everything a Claymore carried had a single role and she'd never considered trying to make them useful for additional tasks.

Turning to the slow running river just beyond the circle of their firelight Sylvia decided it was time to clean herself off as best she could. Her uniform would surely tear further as the blood came free, but she was not about to sit with a mixture of yoma blood and her own caked onto her body. _The water will be cold_, Sylvia noted. _Best all at once_.

Breaking into a quick and barefoot jog she dashed to the riverbank and hopped into the deepest looking spot she could see.

The water reached onto to Sylvia's narrow waist, and it was bitterly cold, but fiercely refreshing. The cold made everything feel cleaner instantly, and her half-human half-yoma body adjusted to the difference in temperature almost immediately. Bending swiftly Sylvia plunged her head and shoulders deep into the water there, holding them submersed in cold darkness as she scrubbed blood from her hair.

When her lungs at last begged for air the Claymore surged upward, taking in a large and free breath, feeling cleansed. A few moments more sufficed to remove the last of the worst bloody patches. Then she was quick enough to jauntily exit the river and return to the circle of fire. The smell of Tyrin's simple meal, simmering in the greasy insides of her shield, was welcome, even though she felt no real sensation of hunger.

"You look prettier without all the blood," the female soldier remarked idly. "And you're lucky, to have hair that behaves so well."

_Pretty?_ Sylvia wondered. She had never thought of herself so. It was said that many men found the slender and sleek form of her kind alluring, but she was nothing special. Her face was simple and unrefined, not like the imperious and serene beauty some of her kind possessed, nor was she very busty, something her uniform made obvious. About her hair, Sylvia admitted Tyrin had been right. Her chin length stands grouped together free and easily, falling about her head in a fashion that caused no hindrance and looked acceptable without any work. That much she could take pride in, and it spared her the vanity of some of her kind, who spent far more time on maintaining their hair than any demon hunters ought to.

Thinking on this Sylvia took a more appraising look at her companion. What she saw, without the steel armor to hide it, surprised her. _Why_, the Claymore noted. _She could almost be one of us._ Tyrin was wider in the shoulders and a bit in the waist and slightly more buxom than Sylvia was, but she had seen other Claymores who might fit this pattern. The light and thin blond hair, in unruly waves now that it was freed from the helmet, fit the template as well. Only the eyes, soft gray-blue rather than piercing silver, told the truth of the difference. _Her helmet partially hides those eyes_, Sylvia recalled. _With it on she could pass for one of us. I must remember this._

Tyrin noticed that Sylvia was observing her, but interpreted things differently. "You want some?" she asked, spearing a hunk of sausage with a small sharp knife.

Sylvia shook her head. "I have my own food for what I need," she pulled a chunk of jerky from the small waist pouch she carried with her armor. She felt no hunger, but knew a bit of food would help repair her strength after the wounds she'd taken earlier. She forced herself to take three bites and chew slowly. "If you would like we can work out the supply arrangements once we get to the next town."

"Oh, right," Tyrin nodded. "That'll be soon enough." She gave Sylvia another look as she wolfed down the last of her meal, eating with the speed of someone who always worries food will be interrupted. "Fire warm enough to dry you off?"

"Its fine," Sylvia answered.

"Good, 'cause it's my turn to take the cold dip then," Tyrin stood up, taking her shield with her. "I might as well clean this off while I have the chance," she quipped, and Sylvia realized she must have worn a questioning look.

The human warrior mimicked the Claymore's earlier charge into the dark river, with one key difference.

"Oh god that's cold!" Tyrin shouted the moment after she plunged in.

Sylvia looked on with a bit of amusement, almost smiling. Nevertheless, she had mixed feelings. _This companionship is going to take some getting used to_, she decided. Yet her hopes were high.

Carefully, Sylvia took Tyrin's moment in the river to extend out her senses as far as she could, searching for an obviously artificial sound. She closed her eyes briefly, focusing as much as she was able, but there was nothing. _Hmm_, she considered. _I suppose he'll wait until tomorrow. That's acceptable. _She was grateful for the extra day to sort her thoughts out at least.

Tyrin spent very little time in the river, veritably running out only a few moments following her entrance, back to the warm glow of the fire, shivering slightly. "I underestimated the chill," she shook her head silently. "I should have known better after what you said about exposure not being a bother and all, but I guess it didn't take."

"My apologies," Sylvia managed, suppressing a bit of giggly laughter, a rarity for her.

"Don't worry about it," the human warrior replied. "I've learned my lesson."

Struggling for something to say as the lay drying by the flickering flames, Sylvia realized there was a small matter that had been niggling away at the back of her mind. "Excuse me," she began. "But there was something that surprised me earlier. When you ran in to aid me today, you didn't seem to fear the yoma. That is unexpected coming from a human, most freeze up, especially the first time seeing one's true form."

"It wasn't the first time I'd seen a yoma," Tyrin answered, her eyes dark.

"You've met another Claymore before then?" Sylvia wondered, slightly confused, for that had not been the impression she'd received.

"Nope," Tyrin shook her head, but smiled weakly. "That was one we handled without your organization's help."

"Are you serious?" Sylvia blurted, losing control for a moment in her shock. "That's impossible…"

"Not impossible," Tyrin shook her head again. "Just really messy. It happened during a battle, way east of here. I was with a mercenary unit; we'd been hired to clear the bandits out of the hills. It ended up in a nasty little fight in some slash. Then it turned out one of the bandits was a yoma, he'd been staying in human form, but he just couldn't hold back with all the blood that was spilled. Both sides turned on him," the human warrior managed a smile. "First time I've ever been thankful for bandits."

"And you managed to slay him?" Sylvia knew there was the occasional freak case where humans managed to kill yoma, but it was always some combination of extraordinary stupidity on the demon's part and incredible luck on the human side.

"Hard to believe is it?" Tyrin shrugged. "Certainly, it wasn't easy. That monster claimed almost thirty lives before it finally went down, ten bandits and twenty trained soldiers. We surrounded it and kept spearing and spearing and eventually it had lost enough blood that it couldn't stay standing, so we were able to hack the limbs off bit by bit with our swords. One of the most gruesome things I've ever seen."

Sylvia considered the story and Tyrin's expression. The soldier did not seem to be lying, but it was hard for her to accept. She'd been taught that only Claymores could slay yoma, that without them humans were helpless. This case, it made her wonder.

"I think we got really lucky though," Tyrin went on as Sylvia remained silent. "We'd have never been able to deal with the yoma if it hadn't revealed itself first. The damn bastard could have killed the whole unit in the night probably, changing skins the way they do. You'd never root them out of hiding. I've no idea how you do it."

"We can sense them through their yoki," Sylvia explained idly, though her thoughts raced down other channels. "As half-human half-yoma we have it too, and can sense that energy, almost like a scent. They can sense us too in return. It makes disguises of limited use." _Is that it?_ The Claymore wondered. _Is it our eyes, and not our swordarms that makes us so necessary?_ She had never thought of things that way before, but faced both with humans killing yoma and humans aiding a yoma in an attempt to kill a Claymore, she was uncertain of many things.

"I guess that makes sense," Tyrin nodded. "You are sure full of surprises. I suppose I have a lot to learn."

"I hope you are very careful with your life then," Sylvia admonished, though not harshly. "It would be a shame for you to lose it before you learned all that you wished."

"Thanks, I think," the warrior gave Syvia a sly grin. "Anyway, I'm pretty tired, cold water drains the energy right out of you. You ready to douse this fire and turn in?"

"Certainly," Sylvia too was tired, being wounded had drained her energy more than she wished.

"I don't suppose there's any point trying to set watches or so on, with only the two of us," Tyrin considered aloud. "I bet you'd be awfully hard to sneak up on anyway, wouldn't you?"

"That is true enough," Sylvia answered, lending her a hand momentarily as Tyrin smashed down the fire to smoldering coals that did not smoke but retained welcome warmth.

"See you in the morning then," the human soldier said in the now darkness, resting her head against her bundled knapsack.

"Indeed," Sylvia replied, lying back against a tree, her sword within easy reach. She did not fall away to sleep immediately, but took a moment to look out at Tyrin. A traveling companion then, she thought in a state still filled with disbelief. _I wonder how it will work out?_ The soldier had said she wished to be friends, and Sylvia thought on such a statement with awe and wonder. _Do I even know what it means to have a 'friend?'_ It was a thought of little hope, but she dared just for a moment, in the soft glow of the coals, to hold to that hope. _Don't die Tyrin_, Sylvia silently wished. _I'd like to try and make a friend. _


	3. Third Stroke: Dour Reflections

Third Stroke – Dour Reflections

Dawn brought awareness of the cold morning, rousing both Sylvia and Tyrin from their slumber. Light, it had been in both cases, Sylvia as it always for her, the troubled and alert sleep of her kind, and Tyrin likely from the many nights as a soldier, trained to be ready so very fast.

The ordinary morning routine for Sylvia was very simple, she'd put on her armor and strap on her sword and be off, and that was all. It was a moderately bothersome discovery to know that Tyrin's presence made things somewhat more complicated.

It was not that the human woman was not quick or efficient, for she was clearly both, having broken camp many times with what was surely commendable speed even for a human soldier. Nevertheless she had to bank up the fire slightly for warmth, roll her blanket into her knapsack and then put on her own armor. All these things Tyrin did while breakfasting on bits and pieces of cold food, hardened cakes mixed of grains and nuts it seemed.

The difference in their readiness was not long, as absolute time might be measured, but it was a disruption to the carefully practiced routine Sylvia had developed in her normal course. The armor was the key difference, the Claymore recognized as Tyrin strapped and tied on the many pieces. It was simply a much more complex procedure than the reduced bits her uniform required.

_I must be patient_, Sylvia told herself, and suppressed her irritation. _It is not important, only a few minutes at most._ _It will make no real difference at the end of the day._ She tried instead to examine the process Tyrin underwent to don the armor, learning the way of it, a study in human protections. This was only partly successful. _I am going to have to modify my routine in many ways_, Sylvia now recognized, as she had not the evening before. _Perhaps everything will change, at least slightly_. _Forebear Sylvia_, she told herself in the weak dawn light through the heavy boughs above. _You would have lost your life if not for her aid; the obligations of that act will bring change. _

As Tyrin tucked her knapsack on and tugged her helmet under her arm the Claymore gave the slightest shake of her head. _A new beginning this, I had not expected it to be so tedious. _

"The worst part of any morning is how cold the damn armor is," Tyrin joked lightly, gray eyes fluid as the breaking light caught them. "So where too?"

"North," Sylvia responded. "We will head for the next town."

"Right," her companion nodded, and they were off.

The day progressed mostly as the previous afternoon had, in simple movement, with comments few and widely spaced. Each woman kept her own counsel and they walked accompanied only by the sounds of the woods and clinking of armored heels upon the sod.

Sylvia did not set a fast pace, there was no need. Why bother, with no pressing assignment? There was nothing to say she would not receive orders to turn around and head south, so pushing hard was pointless.

So far as she could tell Tyrin did not seem to mind the simple pace, or even Sylvia's occasional stops to look at the scenery of the forest. The soldier took those opportunities to sip water from her canteen, or shift her knapsack from one shoulder to another. She said nothing and asked no questions as to why a Claymore might spend time taking in pretty views. Sylvia was glad for that in a way, as she did not think she had a good answer, but it also saddened her. Though it would not have been easier to describe her hopes regarding the other woman, this all-but-silent march did not fit her impressions.

Between Claymores such lack of speech was common, since they rarely got along well, considered each other rivals, and often refused to admit that they'd ever rely on anyone for anything, but it troubled Sylvia to find that the case with a human woman. She had hoped Tyrin would take the lead, but it seemed they would be left to ask questions around the campfire. _So it goes_, she decided, only the smallest bit regretful. _I should not try to force anything. _

Only once did they discuss something beyond the immediacy of travel, during the brief stop for lunch. "Having those holes in that outfit doesn't bother you?" Tyrin had mused, looking at the damage the puncture marks had left on Sylvia's clothing.

"There's nothing to be done about it," Sylvia replied without any enthusiasm. "I only have one uniform until they provide me with another one."

"Couldn't you wear something else though?" the soldier had offered. "I mean, buy something in town or the like?"

"No!" Sylvia responded with unexpected force, and then looked downcast before the other woman, ashamed at her reaction to an innocent question. "I am sorry, it's not your fault, I overreacted, don't be afraid to ask me such things in the future."

"I'll remember," Tyrin replied, but Sylvia met her eyes and could tell she was not convinced.

"The uniform marks us," Sylvia had tried to explain. "Taking it off would be an act of desertion."

Many things had been left open in that reply, and Sylvia thought Tyrin knew it, but the other woman had asked nothing, and they had continued on as before.

They stopped again in an open patch of forest with the setting sun, near a small lake. "You get the wood again?" Tyrin asked as they shed their gear.

"Certainly," Sylvia nodded, doing her best to be accommodating.

As they worked Tyrin built up a larger fire than she had the night before. Sylvia gave her an odd look when she realized this, and the soldier must have caught the question in the silver eyes.

"We've got more time this evening," Tyrin explained. "Also, I saw rabbit sign here, so I thought I might set a snare. More coals would be useful come morning if I caught anything."

"Right," Sylvia answered, not quite understanding. She did not know the common things of trapping, fishing, or hunting that many human travelers talked about, for she did not need to know such things. _The only thing a Claymore knows is how to hunt yoma,_ she noted as she had several times in her past. _Is that a strength? Or a weakness?_

"So is this how it goes all the time then?" Tyrin asked as she simmered her dinner. "Wandering from place to place until a request comes, then going to some fetid mess like that town, kill a yoma, and do it all again?"

"More or less," Sylvia replied a bit sourly. Described like that it made her life seem truly empty, but then perhaps it was. She tried not to think on it deeply. "We do occasionally form teams if there's a problem too big for one of us to handle."

"That happen often?" there was a bit of worry in Tyrin's tone, as there might well be, anything that required the attention of multiple Claymores generally left a mound of human bodies in its wake.

"No," Sylvia shook her head. "It's not that common." She was not being entirely honest at the moment, and felt somewhat ashamed, but it would be too hard to explain the rest.

"Huh," Tyrin turned back to the fire to extricate her meal.

It was then that Sylvia heard the sound she had been expecting. It was nothing too obvious, only the low sound of a rock striking a tree some distance to the east. Fleeting though such a signal was, it was not the kind of thing that happened naturally on a night without wind. It had also been soft enough that Tyrin, with her somewhat more limited human senses, probably had not been able to recognize it. That much told Sylvia a great deal, and sent her a queasy feeling.

She stood abruptly. "Apologies," she told her companion, just now starting to eat. "I'll be taking my leave for a brief while. I need you to stay here, it is very important."

Tyrin met Sylvia's silver eyes, blinked once, and then nodded. The Claymore could sense the many questions there, but Tyrin obviously knew when not to press the issue. Sylvia was very thankful for that discipline.

It was only a short march through the dark woods after that; far enough to leave the flickering light of the fire behind.

There was no clearing, or any other obvious sign, here along the crooked lakeshore, but Sylvia knew his habits. She found a large tree with a splint trunk, shadowy darkness even deeper than the soft night dwelling there. "Well?" she asked.

"Hmph," the voice was gruff and bored. "This is getting too predictable." Following the words a small man stepped smoothly out of the shadows between the tree trunks. He did not step into light, only to a lesser darkness, and covered all in black it hardly made him more visible. The entirety of his face was hidden by the dark cowl he wore perpetually upraised. Not that his face was anything memorable, Sylvia recalled as always from when she had glimpsed it once in the past.

"Is predictability offensive?" Sylvia asked without the slightest whisper of sarcasm. "I had thought you preferred it Luny. Should I endeavor to be more erratic in the future?"

"Nevermind," he grumbled. "Here," he added, tossing a bundle at her. "Try to make this one last longer, alright."

"I'll endeavor as best I can," she returned, already stripping off her damaged uniform to slip into the new one, gratefully free of holes. Sylvia had said nothing to Tyrin, considering it crass, but having the air on patches of skin usually covered had indeed been a somewhat awkward feeling.

"You have done one unpredictable thing though," Luny muttered, his voice flat, but Sylvia did not think him pleased, though it was little more than a guess. She'd never been able to read his moods, even after so long. "You picked up an unusual bit of baggage."

Silent in the darkness Sylvia forbade herself to take offense. Luny liked to needle her, from what she'd spoken with others of her kind, they all did. She had no idea why, but it was simply the way of things. She'd always done her best to behave appropriately in such cases.

"Is there a problem with having a companion travel with me?" It was half a retort, but half a truly serious question. Sylvia did not know what rules there might be, had never heard of something quite like this happening before.

"Besides the obvious risks?" he quipped, or at least, it might have been a quip.

"I'm aware of the dangers," Syvlia spoke slowly and deliberately. "But she saved my life, so I must make whatever sacrifices I can. She seems willing to accept the dangers. There won't be a problem with my duties."

"I wonder…" his cowl-covered head turned off to look out at the lake.

Sylvia was silent for a moment, wondering what she should do. There had been many fears coming into the meeting, wondering what the organization, what Luny, would say. Her own feelings were very mixed. The life owed to Tyrin was not a thing to be taken lightly, by no means. Yet there was no denying that the woman was all but certain to die traveling with her, and possibly, should things go wrong in certain ways, become a risk to Sylvia's life as well. It was hard to believe the human soldier had truly understood what she had asked in coming with a Claymore.

Weighing these things was not easy. Sylvia had no desire to see Tyrin die; she did not want a human, and a lady who seemed admirable enough at that, to be on her conscience. The image of a Claymore sister weighed in against that equally strong, as did the terrible and tantalizing hope of friendship, as unlikely or impossible as it might be. That was a siren song most difficult to resist. In the end, unable to make up her mind, she gave Luny the unvarnished truth. "I will leave the decision to her, unless of course, there is an order otherwise. If there is then I would comply of course," and she would, as much as it might hurt to have to say such things to those earnest gray eyes in that almost-reflection of a face.

"I know you would," Luny remarked. "Of course you would… Well, keep the woman then, there's nothing that says you have to travel alone. It's your own problem though, and make sure she doesn't deal with me. The organization has no business with human soldiers; your relationship is entirely personal."

"I understand."

"By the way," Luny seemed to muse, though Sylvia did not believe the question was idle. "Why is she so keen to travel with you? Most soldiers are smart enough to not take such risks."

_Do I owe him an answer?_ Sylvia wondered. _Would it betray Tyrin's trust? No,_ she decided. _He could probably find out anyway, and I should not be evasive_. "Her sister," she explained. "She has a much younger sister, who one of you took to become one of us."

"A sister?" for the first time in her recollection Luny seemed at a loss for words. He found them again swiftly. "That is unanticipated. We don't usually take any who have living relatives."

Sylvia said nothing.

"Well…" Luny mused. "A sister is it. How unusual, perhaps it is worth seeing what happens."

No Claymore fully trusted the organization or the men in black who gave them their orders; the training that had made them what they were was just too hard. Still, Sylvia had always tried to believe in everything the organization taught, to find her work worthy, but it was never easy and frightful comments like that from Luny, which could have many nefarious meanings, made it a truly arduous task.

She remained silent, not trusting the words she might say, or her temper, always dangerous given her yoma half.

"Did she give the sister's name?" Luny asked at last.

"No," Sylvia answered, a bit surprised herself. "I had not thought to ask that."

"You and your courtesies," the cowl-covered head shook slowly. "Well, what's the soldier's name? We can find out that way."

"Tyrin," she told him honestly.

"Tyrin is it? Unusual enough name," he nodded slowly. "Well, that should be easy enough to figure out."

Sylvia figured they had covered the topic more than enough, at least for now. "While I know having an associate is unusual," she moved gently to deflect the conversation. "I think it the less important oddity of my past mission."

"Hmm…yes…" there was nothing more immediately.

"I have never seen or heard of this happening, ever," Sylvia stressed this, for she wanted to make certain Luny knew how shocked she had been, and how she was not happy about it. Though the possibility was slim it might jar the black-clad man to reveal a hidden truth or two. Little more could be hoped for in times like these.

Luny raised his left hand, gnarled and bony fingers fading together in the shadows, to the inside of his cowl. Certainly was not in it, but one assumed his hand rested on his brow in some fashion or other, a strange artifice for one so garbed, and likely retained only for its oddity. Sylvia had long struggled to determine just what it was that the gesture meant. "Occasionally," he spoke slowly, deliberately, in a scratchy voice. "Yoma have worked with humans who knew their identity. It is something that grows out of working with human dupes for a time. Still it is very rare." Luny's head shook slightly. "Twice before yoma have managed to arrange for humans to attack one of you; both times by mimicking your shapes and wreaking great havoc. This case is somewhat similar, but the scale is unprecedented."

Sylvia took comfort in this knowledge, but only the barest bit of it. It seemed many yoma had hit upon the idea of using humans in the past. Worse, more than a few humans had been willing to side openly with monsters who would consume them. She could not understand that choice, it seemed mad. This record Luny mentioned, and she suspected that her idea of rare and his did not match up, was very worrisome. Alone humans, even in numbers, could usually be dealt with despite the ban on killing. Sylvia herself had experience in lopping the limbs off those who thought they could do whatever they wished to a Claymore. Yet with yoma to aid them it was very different. Even a few yoma would occupy the complete attention of all but the strongest of her kind, leaving them vulnerable to just the kind of ranged attack that had been staged in the town. A true alliance of demons and men would be terrifying.

"Hopefully this will be the last time then," Sylvia spoke without conviction.

"It seems to have been an aberrant episode," Luny shook his head slowly. "The evidence of it will be erased and mention will be avoided, so no yoma gets any foolish ideas to copy this endeavor."

"I wonder if you will investigate further?" Sylvia broached cautiously.

"That is not your concern," Luny silenced her, snapping his hand out from under his cowl, the first three fingers widespread and the last two curled in that strange sign he favored. "Simply follow your orders and deal with problems as they arise."

"Of course, I understand," Sylvia apologized swiftly. "Do you have a new assignment for me then?"

"Yes," Luny lowered his hand once more. "Go to the village of Forel, three days north. There should be two yoma there, as there have been two distinct patterns of murder. Get rid of them both. I trust you can handle it?"

"I anticipate no problems," Sylvia answered. Two yoma at once was perhaps as much as she could handle by herself with some degree of safety, so long as neither was especially experienced. Luny knew that as well, he wouldn't send her on a mission she couldn't manage, at least not deliberately. "I will carry out my orders directly."

"See that you do, and don't let that woman get you killed," he muttered under his breath, though he would have certainly known Sylvia could hear him, before turning and walking off into the darkness. His black figure faded from sight rapidly.

Sylvia shook her whole body slightly once the man was gone. She had never liked dealing with him; it always made her feel somehow sickly inside. Normally she kept the encounters as short as possible, reporting her results and receiving new missions and the occasional salary. That was all. _Clearly things are going to change_, she mused darkly. _Amazing how it all becomes more complicated from one little event._

She almost wished the walk back was longer, but she had not gone very far beyond the distance of firelight, so it was with troubled thoughts yet that she returned to see Tyrin waiting patiently, watching the flickering flames.

The soldier turned her head upon hearing her approach. "You're back," she noted, and nothing more.

"Yes," Sylvia let the words lie in the air for a moment, wanting to create separation. _This situation is personal, not business_, she told herself again, recalling how Luny had demanded things work.

She sat down beside Tyrin, looking into the flames and finding them not as calming as she'd hoped. Convoluted feelings flowed through her, undecided. _Friendship is clearly not going to be easy to achieve_, she recognized with an infinitesimal shake of the head. "Tyrin, can I ask a small question?" she began.

"You don't need to be so cautious," the other woman managed with a light smile. "Traveling together means being open you know."

_Then we've made a mixed start of it haven't we?_ Sylvia noted. "Well, it's just that it might be considered personal, so I was hesitant." Surging ahead she asked. "What is you sister's name?"

"Celeca," Tyrin said quietly. "That was her name." Her face darkened. "I haven't seen her in four years you know. She was so young then, so small. She must be taller now, but…beyond that…" Tyrin paused for a moment, and Sylvia thought she saw tears gathering in the woman's eyes before they vanished away and her control returned. "I imagine everything else has changed. She had brown hair, different from me, and brown eyes too, more of her father in her than in me, but I suppose that's gone isn't it?"

"It is hard to say," Sylvia replied cautiously, and she felt a deep regret, not having wished to probe in this direction. She had only asked the question because Luny's remarks had piqued her curiosity. Now though, she must tell the truth, as best she could, unpleasant though it was. Tyrin deserved that much, a family member ought to have the right. "Becoming what we are, half-human half-yoma, it is only part of our training. Different children undergo the transformation at slightly different ages, depending on when they are believed to be ready."

Tyrin's head turned to stare directly into Sylvia's eyes as she spoke, drinking the words with a force bordering on desperation.

"Your sister is only nine," Sylvia continued. "She might not have begun the transformation yet, though I imagine it would be within the year."

"Begun the transformation?" Tyrin breathed.

Sylvia scowled and turned her head to the ground. "It is not instantaneous," she explained, grimacing. "Far from it, it takes a great deal of time, though again it varies from girl to girl. Though it is not pleasant to say I must tell you the full truth: becoming like this is extremely painful, integration of the yoma flesh into the body is unnatural, the human body resists, and it hurts and hurts. The organization forces you to train throughout the process, which is probably a kindness, as exhaustion and muscle pain help to overwhelm you, push the reality of what's happening out of the mind."

"The pain does stop right?" Tyrin asked desperately. "You're not still in agony right now are you?"

"No," Sylvia was glad to be able to say that. "Eventually balance is achieved, an equilibrium if you will. And the experience hardens us, makes us resistant to pain, which is very important to what we do." Sylvia paused, and then said one thing, barely audible. "The body's adjustment is easy; it is the struggle of the mind that never ends."

"So my sister will have to go through all that?" Tyrin's face was drawn with terrible sadness. "And then she'll be sent out to hunt yoma?"

"Not immediately," Sylvia wanted to stop speaking, worried that anything she said would simply hurt Tyrin further. Further, she was revisiting her own dark memories now, things she had tried to forget. It wasn't easy, only the greater misery of the lady before her made it doable. _Funny that I can tell her all this_, she was filled with dark fascination. _We never, ever, talk about our training or our lives before the organization amongst each other. I wonder why?_

"Training continues after the transformation is complete," Sylvia went on. "The organization keeps trainees for a while, a few years at least, before letting them into the active pool. Usually we join in small groups, to replace loses that have occurred. I imagine your sister could wait up to five years or more before being given her sword."

"Is that what they do make you a full member?" a bit of color returned to Tyrin's face, and Sylvia felt some relief. She was dour enough on her own without the other woman feeding into depressing moods.

"Yes, we receive our sword marked with our own symbol," Sylvia lifted hers from among her gear and displayed the marking so Tyrin could see it. **φ** : It was not a special or remarkable symbol, the only oddity was the curved nature of the marking. "It's also here," she gestured to the tabard of fabric hanging from her neck.

"Five years then," Tyrin shook her head. "A long time, I'll be almost thirty. Oh well, I've learned patience, I can wait."

"And perhaps we should sleep and wait for tomorrow," Sylvia noted. "We can make the town by nightfall, and conversation will be better around a table than here in a dark forest."

"Perhaps," Tyrin replied, but her mood seemed improved. "So we still head north then?"

"Indeed," Sylvia explained. "To the village for Forel, three days from here. There are two yoma there to kill."

"They keep you busy don't they?" Tyrin smiled slightly.

"Yes," Sylvia said nothing more, and helped instead to douse the fire, but her true thoughts went on. _It is a pity that we are so busy. I do not enjoy being idle, but less work would mean less yoma, and that would be a blessing for the world._

Notes: A few things about this chapter. First, about Luny: like all of the organization's members he's named after an art museum, in this case the Musee de Cluny in Paris, a museum of medieval artifacts, particularly tapestries.

Also, since I did not note this officially before, I should do so now: this story is set significantly prior to the events of the Claymore manga (partly because it might eventually leap toward them temporally). As the timeline of Claymore is not very specific I can't say exactly how long ago this is happening, but Sylvia is probably similar in timeframe to Raphaela (who is the earliest claymore shown in the manga).


	4. Fourth Stroke: Uneasy Truths

Fourth Stroke – Uneasy Truths

The day began with modest promise, but then, in typical mid-spring fashion, it started to rain in the early afternoon. Though the Claymore might be able to control her body's reactions, and the soldier to bear up with a campaigner's patience, the steady downpour nevertheless reduced their already limited conversation to nothing. Tyrin chose to march with her helmet on, obscuring everything above the base of her nose as well, so there was little point in Sylvia even bothering to look at her companion.

_Well_, she thought idly as they marched on. _At least both our kinds still react the same way to weather. That is something I suppose. _

One remittent effect did come out of the long chill rainfall; it quickened the pace of the pair, so they reached the small village of Eiderdale well before dark.

It was not much of a place to look upon, this modest hamlet, and even a cursory glance revealed that there was no true inn here. Such a fact was unsurprising, as they were distant from major roads. By herself Sylvia would not have much cared, even in the rain, she would simply sleep in the woods near the town and not bother the people, but Tyrin's presence made the Claymore hesitant to take such a course.

"Any ideas on what we should do for the evening?" she asked Tyrin carefully.

"That house there," the woman warrior pointed a gauntleted finger. "It's bigger than all the others, and looks to be a brewer's. I'd bet good money it doubles as a tavern and the master probably has a spare room to lend, for peddlers and the like. We should be able to bargain to stay."

Tyrin headed for the door, but Sylvia hesitated, wondering what she should do. _It has been over a year since I stayed among humans at night_, she recalled. That had been in a major city to the east, when she was having her sword serviced and needed to stay close to it. She could not freely remember the last time she'd tried to gain lodging among others, people often looked with anger and fear upon a Claymore, and sleeping in the woods had been an easy way to avoid annoying stares and arguments. Over time, she realized now in a small intake of surprise, it had surely become habit.

Hesitant and worried, but a trifle excited, Sylvia followed Tyrin.

The soldier nodded slightly when she reached the door, noting the glow of light from within, a sign that at least someone was active in the front room. Her armored arm smashed the stout hardwood with strong strokes, letting free forceful peels of noise. "Is the master of the house here?" Tyrin called out in a clear voice.

The door drew back a few moments later, revealing a disheveled and balding man with a beer gut. He had a friendly expression when he opened the door, but it instantly became suspicion when he eyes caught the shine of steel from the ladies' armor. "What do you want?" he barked with caution, retreating somewhat behind the cover of his door. Sylvia doubted such an act would have done him any good in the case of real brigands, but perhaps it brought him a bit of comfort.

"Not much," Tyrin began with a shake of her head, and she reached up to take off her helmet. Sylvia saw the warrior give the man her best smile, one that surely could not match her mood. With a bit of wistful longing, she considered what it would be like to have the chance to influence someone with expression instead of the overwhelming facts of her nature.

"A fire to sit in front of and dry off, dinner if you've the means to serve us, and a place to lay our heads for the night," Tyrin requested. "That's all, it's a mean rain that been falling, and we'd hoped to shelter from it."

"I've a room to spare since the peddler left yesterday," the tavernkeeper shrugged, and his eyes narrowed. "But you've a sword, and so does your friend, makes a man cautious you know."

"A cautious man wouldn't keep a person with a sword waiting in the rain," Tyrin shrugged. "He'd invite them in and take their coin, so as to avoid making them angry."

Sylvia found this exchange rather enlightening, and somewhat amusing, as the poor man blanched and stepped back in surprise at the implied threat.

"Ah, well, yes, I suppose…" he muttered, scratching his bald spot with a gnarled hand. "Yes, do come in, my apologies for my lack of courtesy." He opened the door and motioned them into a fire-lit room.

Tyrin stepped onto the wooden floor easily, shaking the water off as she did so. The master of the house gave her a forced smile, but then his eyes glanced onto Sylvia, revealed in the light for the first time. They bulged immediately, and she had the sudden impression of a speared fish.

"Claymore!" the poor man gasped. Silently he stammered and blubbered, hands grasping the door as if the only plank of wood when adrift at sea. Sylvia stood silently, having fully expected this, and unsure as to how to proceed.

Tyrin, already stripping off her wet armor, turned back to the door to see Sylvia still standing in the rain. "What's the problem?" she asked idly.

This comment seemed to shock the brewer back into activity from his moment of terror. "No!" he barked. "No! No!" he repeated the words, seeming to take strength from them. "I will not have a silver-eyed witch under my roof! I will not!"

Sylvia suppressed a sigh; she had more or less expected this. She had entertained the possibility that Tyrin's presence might have changed the circumstances, but it seemed that was not to be. "I am sorry if my presence offends you," she told the man. "I regret that you find me unwelcome, as I do not wish you harm, but it is your right to forbid me. Very well," she turned to Tyrin. "I'll see you in the morning." She turned to take her leave, regretting that she had even bothered; it would cause Tyrin ill-will for the evening.

The warrior woman's reaction was so fast and unexpected that Sylvia barely caught it at all, and there was no time to dodge away, she chose the only option and met it with a countermove as she turned.

Tyrin grunted as Sylvia's leg slashed in to strike her own and upend her footing, but she made the grab for the Claymore's neck anyway, and refused to let go. With much of her heavy armor still on the soldier out-massed the Claymore enough to tip them both to the floor.

The landed hard, in a nasty tangle. "Bah!" Tyrin spat, and shoved the shocked Sylvia off her. "Stupid, real stupid." She grimaced as she struggled to her feet again. "As if I'd actually attack you. I'm not an idiot, but it seems you are." Tyrin's expression was filled with an exasperated anger Sylvia could not properly understand. She recognized the irritation at being hit, but that seemed to be the least of it. _Why is she so mad?_ Sylvia did not understand. _Why did she grab me anyway?_

"Travelers do not let themselves get split up!" Tyrin shouted; her mouth inches from Sylvia's own. "You're staying here with me tonight, and this sluggard here will just deal with it! I'd have thought you Claymores knew better than to let village folk walk all over you!"

"Miss I will not have any-" the brewer began.

"Quiet!" Tyrin grabbed the pudgy man by his shirt and lifted him off the ground so his stubby feet kicked in the air. She fixed the man with a hideous stare, an expression of anger Sylvia knew she herself never wore unless the yoki was surging through her.

"I. Am. Not. Sleeping. Outside." Tyrin made each word a lash. "You'll take our money and shut up about it. Sylvia here's way too courteous for her own good, but I'm not, and walking through cold rain's gotten me angry. So why don't you hurry and get us a meal."

"Yes ma'am, very good ma'am," the brewer mumbled as Tyrin let him down. "I'll get right too that, I will." He shuffled off to a back room.

Sylvia watched it all silently, wondering what had just happened. _Why did she defend me?_ She could not fathom why Tyrin should stick her neck out in such a fashion. There was no need, she could have slept out in the rain; it was not a problem for her. Puzzled as to how to approach the issue, she tried an oblique approach. "You're not afraid he'll go and gather a mob?"

"With you here?" Tyrin grunted. "He's way too scared, and this hamlet's not big enough anyway," the woman's tone was yet filled with violent emotion. "Go and take your armor off already, you're dripping everywhere."

Sylvia complied, not having anything other course of action occur to her. Silently she wondered how long it had been since a human woman had given her a command. Her recollection turned up empty. _Perhaps it was before I became like this?_ She dared to wonder. _To think it has been so long._

Tyrin stripped off the remainder of her own armor, but did not discard her sword. Instead she placed it beside her on the long bench beside the room's single great table. She seated herself near to the warmth of the fire, but not so close as to obstruct her movement if something should happen.

Shortly thereafter the brewer returned, bearing a pot filled with some form of stew, a loaf of bread, and two large mugs wafting the distinctive aroma of hot cider. He avoided looking directly at either of them. "Here is your meal my ladies," he mumbled. "The guest room is beyond the door to the right," he pointed an elbow to a door that had seen many a battering from tossed ale mugs. "You may retire whenever you wish, put more wood on the fire if it is not sufficient, there is a stack there as you see." Sylvia flicked her eyes to confirm this, not that it seemed likely the man would lie.

The poor man placed the food before them, clearly struggling to avoid shivering. Sylvia restrained herself from shaking her head. _Sometimes it is like this_, she had seen it many times and always unpleasant. _Those who fear us for no reason, why can some humans not control their terror?_

"Uh…" the brewer managed to hold out a hand. "If you could…"

"How much?" Tyrin asked gruffly, already spooning out a bowl of stew.

The man named a figure, and the soldier reached down into a hidden pocket of her under-armor.

Sylvia was faster, and dropped the coins into the man's hand without ever touching him with her gloves. She did not force him to look at her, but spoke toward the flickering flames. "I believe that will be all, master, thank you."

The man managed to avoid bolting in his scurry from the room, but little more. His exit left the pair of women alone again. There was no one else present, the local farmers doubtless too tired with the chores of planting season to show up.

"You paid for me too!" it was almost an accusation, coming from Tyrin.

"Is that a problem?" Sylvia wondered, surprised again. She had never known people to refuse money, and surely a mercenary would not. Tyrin was presenting her with many strange and confusing things this evening, it was all disconcerting, and a cold feeling deep in her grew slowly with each new outburst.

The soldier did not say anything for a brief time, choosing instead to gulp down several mouthfuls. Then she turned back to Sylvia, and her blue-gray eyes peered deep into the Claymore's silver orbs, glinting in the red and yellow light of the fire. "Why pay for me?"

It was not at all what Sylvia had expected, and she was struck dumb momentarily. _Why indeed?_ She mused, trying to sort through the jumble of her own thoughts. It had been an impulse, that was easy to recognize, but to find and explanation was much more difficult. It took her some time, but Tyrin seemed patient, focusing on her meal. Watching without hunger of her own, she eventually determined what to say. "Soldiers are paid for campaigns are they not?" she began. "If you travel with me, that means you have no employment, anything you spend would be whatever savings you possess. In that case I, since I am working, should be the one to pay. Besides, the money is largely meaningless to me anyway."

"You mean you get paid for killing yoma?" Tyrin's face bore clear surprise. "But you didn't take anything from the village where that one was killed…"

"That is so we do not waste it," Sylvia explained. "Once, we collected our own fees and handed them over to the organization directly, but there were problems, some of us took to wasting it all very rapidly, so the system was changed." She had been told that anyway, the truth predated her, but it made sense as far as it went. "The organization keeps by far the greater part of the fees, but we are paid back for our jobs periodically."

"They provide you uniforms though, and you barely eat anything," Tyrin noted. "Why do they have to give you money at all?"

"I am not exactly sure," Sylvia answered, truthfully, for she was not. "For myself, and others like me, it is probably not necessary, but we are not all alike. I think though, it is a helpful distraction to some of us."

"Distraction?" Tyrin's anger appeared to have completely faded and she looked on Sylvia with renewed interest. The Claymore guessed the warrior realized she had stumbled upon something important.

"Our lives are very hard," Sylvia said quietly. "We are always fighting with the yoma half deep inside of us. For many, this leads to restlessness, especially in times between jobs. I have heard that many soldiers, when they are idle for long periods, will lose themselves in drink or the like. It is like that I suspect."

Tyrin nodded, understanding what this meant. "You can't get drunk though, can you? I mean…"

Sylvia gave the slightest hint of laughter. "A puzzle. I think we could, but you'd have to hold us down and force our throats open to imbibe enough, which would be a challenge in itself."

Tyrin laughed as well, thinking on it, and took a strong gulp of her cider to clear her throat. "Indeed…that would be…quiet the challenge. But," she went on more seriously. "If not spirits, then what is the favored distraction of a Claymore?"

"I have heard of many," Sylvia replied, thinking about what she knew on this question, of the wants and inclinations of the various comrades she'd met over the years. "I think gambling is the most common."

"Gambling?" Tyrin mused. "Like dice? Or cards? That doesn't seem like something you'd get into, though I imagine those eyes' make you deadly at cards."

"I think it is more common to gamble on contests," Sylvia explained with a shake of her head, not liking to think about it. "Horse races sometimes, but more likely fights, birds, dogs, and even men, as they say there are dark places where that is done. I think the money provides a thrill to engagements we would otherwise find lackluster."

"Sport fights are a farce," Tyrin spat. "When you're gambling with your life in battle what's the point of betting money?"

Silently Sylvia agreed. To risk life and limb for nothing more than money was a hopeless endeavor.

"What else besides gambling?" Tyrin asked more lightly after the dark moment had passed.

"All sorts of little luxuries," Sylvia went on, recalling some of the strange things. "Perfumes for example, or such gemstones as we can afford, or even stranger oddities. I met one of us once who carried a collection of tiny porcelain cats with her in a specially padded bag. Oh," Sylvia realized she was leaving out something very important, out paused before adding it, her pleasant mood, only recently established, fading. _Should I reveal this now? Or even at all? _She doubted it could be kept hidden forever, but it was not something she truly desired to share. _Perhaps,_ she thought. _Perhaps Tyrin deserves to see, her sister will bear the same fate, but even so. _In the end, she simply decided to speak, and leave it to the human woman to see the connection or not. "Of course, there's always men."

"Men?" Tyrin raised a questioning eyebrow. "But surely with your looks there's always a few adventurous young men…" she gave a quirky smile.

Sylvia avoided scowling, she was not surprised, had figured on Tyrin making such a remark. _I accept this_, she forced herself to think. Slowly, she reached up to the center line of her uniform. With deliberate care she pulled it open, down and apart.

"Hey, what are you-" Tyrin started, and then she saw, and her eyes went wide. Her mouth hung open, dripping bits of gravy slowly down to the table below.

Slowly Sylvia sutured up the uniform once more, hiding things again. "It doesn't hurt," she managed, trying to be kind, doing what she could to ameliorate the horrors of imagining one's kin in such a fashion. "It is simply there."

"I…" the woman stumbled over her words, all the sureness Sylvia had seen in every moment on their short companionship suddenly gone. "I had never imagined!" she sobbed, and tears began to flow down her cheeks, cold rebuke to Sylvia.

The Claymore had no answer. _What is the proper thing to say now? What is the right way to speak an unfortunate truth to a companion? A friend? I don't know, I simply don't know._ This saddened her almost as much as the choice to show her true self had. She did not understand friendship; it had not been something the organization wished to preserve in its warriors. They were competitors, and colleagues, and shared a bond forged of torment and toil no others could understand, but they were forced to stand in a single file line, never together.

So Sylvia looked on in silence as Tyrin sobbed, not knowing what to do.

In the end, after some time, likely short, but feeling impossibly long, the soldier looked up again. Her face was tear-stained, and haggard, but at last her eyes were dry. Slowly, her words chosen with obvious care, she spoke to Sylvia. "Thank you for showing me now," she said. "It is horrible, terrible, but I would need to see it eventually. Better now," her voice hardened. "If I learned later, after you had hidden the truth, I do not think I could have forgiven you."

Sylvia was completely disarmed by this fierce but kind remark. She could not accept what she had just done, making Tyrin cry alone, as the right thing. "Please do not apologize," she stuttered. "I handled this terribly, I should not have been so sudden, I should have given you warning, I should have done…" failing to find a satisfactory course of action she finished merely with a whispered. "Something."

"You know," Tyrin wiped her hand through loose hair with the ghost of a grin on her face. "For someone who fights demons for a living, you sure apologize a lot."

Sylvia could not come up with anything to follow that remark.

"I'll be alright," Tyrin added. "You never get used to the bad news, but you do become better at dealing with it, and I've had some practice." She lifted her mug of cider and took a long draught. "The pudgy man a least makes a good brew." Turning back to Sylvia she asked with more levity. "So you can still buy men even like that? I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

"Neither am I," Sylvia answered. She had never done it herself though. Such a thing was too crude, too emotional; she would not forfeit control in that way.

"So what do you spend your money on then?" Tyrin probed.

"Very little," the Claymore explained. "I am one of those who never seems to spend it. I bought a dress once, years ago, but I felt horrible in it and sold it after wearing it only once."

Tyrin looked her up and down slowly, clearly trying to imagine Sylvia in a dress and not succeeding effectively. "Why'd you buy the dress?"

It was a question Sylvia had been asked once before, but this time she found it actually pleasant to answer. Telling her reasons to Luny had not been so. "In a town where I killed a pair of yoma the people did not want to let me go without a reward. A man there was an artist, and he said he would paint my portrait. I couldn't wear my uniform because it was covered in blood, and I could not have stayed to wait for it to be washed. So I bought the dress," it was a bittersweet memory, being fitted for such a thing, wearing the awkward and unfamiliar clothes. She had thought being painted would be enjoyable, but the poor man had kept refusing to meet her eyes as he did so, and it had not turned out well. She frowned ever so slightly, recalled the irresolvable feelings of that day.

"And here I thought you might have just had the urge to look like a lady," Tyrin laughed briefly. "You do your best to speak like one, I must say. So what about since then, you can't just carry it all around."

Sylvia's frown vanished but she did not smile. "I opened an account with a bank in a city in the south. I deposit money there, to be held for the future." She spoke in a low whisper now, the words ghostly, mere wisps of vocalization. "One day, someday far from now, there might come a day when I no longer need to swing my sword. That money is my hope against that day."

Wisely Tyrin was silent for a time, hearing this, and Sylvia noted it with care.

"Well, I'm rather tired," the soldier said when she spoke once more. "Walking in the rain just drains the energy out of you. You ready to drag our gear into the next room and hope it's dry in the morning?"

"That sounds reasonable," Sylvia answered.

The room they had been given was decidedly not much to look upon. It was cramped, dirty, and contained only a bed and a miserable excuse for a nightstand.

"I can sleep on the floor, it's not a difficulty," Sylvia said shortly after they entered. Not that she desired to, but it was the proper thing to say, especially after what she had done to Tyrin earlier.

"Nah, we can both manage," the soldier replied. "It'll be a bit cramped, but that bed's clearly big enough to fit the occasional handsome peddler and the local girl who doesn't go for the local boys. Besides, it's not like either of us is a big particularly big woman."

"Are you certain?" Sylvia asked in all seriousness. "I am half-human half-yoma, you can treat me as such. I will surely treat you as the human you are." It was a cold thing to say, but it was reality, inescapable.

"Claymore or not," Tyrin returned with a hint of the anger she'd displayed earlier. "We're traveling together and going to be in danger together. That means we stay together. I've learned that lesson too well."

"I understand," Sylvia wondered if she did even as the words escaped her lips.

It was a very odd experience for her, sleeping next to someone. Even though they managed to keep a little space between each other, she could still feel the warmth of Tyrin's body flowing across the mattress and through the blankets. It was an unfamiliar feeling, something that called back the distant memories all but forgotten and blurred away by time. Sylvia lay awake a long time, thinking on such things. _To be like this every night; sleeping beside another warm form. That is how most humans desire to spend all their days_. Sylvia could hardly imagine that kind of life anymore. _We spend almost all our days alone, dark and cold. I had long ago given up hope for anything else. Yet now?_ Her mind flashed away down many mysterious channels, calling up questions in the dark that blurred the lines of the careful world she had built for herself. _Will trying to be your friend change me? Will that be good, or a disaster? _Sylvia found no answers before sleep claimed her.

Notes: I've been forced to make an assumption in this chapter about Claymore's and money, but I feel it is a reasonable one, as both Clare and Teresa were shown to have money with them, and Teresa mentioned 'never spending' hers. I've also chosen to follow the same route as the manga and reveal that there's something horrible to do with the front of a Claymore's body with specifying what it is.

Also, I know it's been a while without any bloodshed, but I assure you, there's plenty of action to come.


	5. Fifth Stroke: Sharpened Perceptions

Fifth Stroke –Sharpened Perceptions

Forel bore the taint of yoma, it could be sensed from some distance, signifying activity. Doubtless the murder count had increased in the time of the journey. Regrettable perhaps, but it was also inevitable. Even a Claymore could only walk so fast without tiring, and their numbers were few. Requests always had some lag, and so the blood mounted as a slow river. This Sylvia had long ago learned to accept, for it was useless to feel remorse over that which could not be changed.

As a cool wind blew softly against her face she did feel a twinge of gratitude for one fact. This town was not like the last. The yoma infestation here appeared ordinary. It would be a job like all the others this time. Not a victory, but a small piece of consistency that was welcome.

_Two is manageable_, Sylvia reminded herself. _Even if they should both come at once. Better though if they do not, if I can find one and dispatch it quickly, and then engage the other. Yes, that would be preferable_. She focused her inhuman sense, trying to search out the two trails, to find the yoma. Heartily did she desire to find her enemies before she was detected.

It was not to be so simple. They were both near the center of the town, though not, Sylvia guessed, together. _They have covered their tracks fairly well, _she noted. _I will need to get close; a shame._ She stopped at the outer ring of buildings, and recognized the people beginning to come and gawk as they always did.

"You should stay here Tyrin," she told the soldier, as respectfully as she could. "Let me take care of it and then come back."

"No chance," the other woman retorted. "I'm not standing by outside of this."

Sylvia sighed. She had expected this, but was uncertain how to convince Tyrin to stay. She did not want the woman to come. Even if she would only observe there were great risks. Should she actually unsheathe her blade the troubling permutations became uncountable. "Tyrin," Sylvia began firmly, making a point to use the woman's name. "I am grateful for your aid before, but there are no human enemies this time. You cannot fight yoma yourself. This is my task, allow me to do it."

"Don't treat me like I'm dead weight," the warrior woman snapped back, slamming her helmet back on to her head as opposed to her usual loose carry while walking. "I'm not worthless, even against the damn demons. I'm going, Sylvia," she put a great deal of resentment into the Claymore's name, and Sylvia felt a stab of regret from a place she could not name. "And you're not stopping me unless you beat me down."

"Very well," Sylvia told her. "But I can only say this: I cannot risk myself to protect you. I do not wish you to come to harm, but I am here only to kill two yoma. Your fate shall be in your own hands alone. Though I might wish to, I cannot afford to safeguard your life in any way. Do you understand?"

"I can handle myself too," Tyrin scoffed.

Sylvia desperately hoped, though it defied all she knew of the abilities of humans and yoma, that the soldier was telling the truth and not speaking with bravado. "Please try to stay alive then," she admonished a final time before heading into the town.

The people gathered and gawked as always as the pair entered the town. The unusual whispered words, cold stares, shivering hands, and all the other curious reactions humans had toward half-human half-yoma individuals. Sylvia paid them no mind, and did not even bother to respond. Instead she searched, constantly looking out, trying to read the patterns of yoki and track down her quarry.

In passing the Claymore did note one thing, a surprising thing. Tyrin, despite the fearsome countenance of her armored figure, was all but ignored by the people. It was as if, presented with the frightful unreality of a Claymore, the lesser oddity simply did not register. She made a careful note of this, though there was no time to consider it further at present.

By the time the two had reached the town center a large crowd had gathered, including the requisite man with a large bag of coinage. _Amazing how they never seem to learn about that part_, Sylvia noted, surprising herself with an errant thought. _We are recognized for our features everywhere, but no one has ever tried to give the money to the organization without being told about it first._ _Very strange, perhaps it is simply too illogical to believe._

Sylvia held up a hand to this man, stopping him before her. "Don't," she explained as she always had. "The fee is not paid to me. A man in black will come to collect it after the job is done. Should I fall failing to complete the task you need not render payment."

"But…" he seemed about to ask a question, but Sylvia was not listening, had not even been listening to her own words.

It came from her right.

"Scatter all of you!" she shouted as she drew her sword, pivoting and sliding to the side.

A huge clawed arm ripped through the space the Claymore had occupied only moments before.

The air filled with screaming in the same moment, and a human body, the source of the impassioned noise, was flung at Sylvia, a crude but useful missile.

Sylvia feinted, miming to slice the flying woman in half, but at the last reversing her blade and striking down in a low sweep, folding her whole body down under the swinging arms of the first yoma.

It was a dangerous maneuver, a quick and cognizant enemy could trap the sword by falling on it at a critical point, pinning the blade with their weight, but Sylvia knew a yoma wouldn't do that, it wasn't part of the way they lived, as predators.

As expected, the yoma took one of the two simple, but useless, courses of evasion. It stepped back, moving the top-heavy ogre body with surprising speed. The beast's torso slipped easily out of range.

Sylvia didn't care; she snapped her blade straight upward, quickly and easily severing both the yoma's arms slightly below the elbow.

"You bitch!" the creature howled in anger and agony.

In a desperate measure it kicked out. Sylvia hopped back, and then pushed off forward, moving to her left to evade any possible attacks from the yoma now on her right side. She could not see that creature carefully, but her ears told her that it advanced still. _So they did attack together, and they use the civilians as shields_. Sylvia grimaced, but she did not allow anger to take her, and held her yoki power down. _First, finish the wounded one. _

The great blade sliced in, Sylvia bringing the blade first high, and then cutting down lower, anticipating the creature's dodge easily. Her sword slashed parallel to the ground and cleaved the yoma in half.

Blood sprayed in crimson rain, staining the paving stones beneath the fallen demon, but not touching Sylvia, already in motion, shifting back, twisting, so as to face her other foe.

The foe did not face her back.

Looking down the chaos of the square Sylvia saw what she had dreaded most, Tyrin standing forth with sword in hand, squared off before the yoma. _No! Don't do this!_ She screamed silently.

It was not possible to charge the yoma's massive exposed back; the creature had hurled people to the pavement in the way, blocking the path. Instead Sylvia jumped: a reckless maneuver with few options.

The yoma was not a fool; it twisted and lashed an arm back. The Claymore's great sword slammed against those clawed fingers, blocking the blow from reaching flesh, but trapped airborne Sylvia held no leverage, and the demonic strength of the creature succeeded in throwing her a distance backwards at the price of a nasty cut on the palm.

Skidding to the ground unhurt Sylvia looked back and cold dread blossomed in her stomach. One on one she would have taken the exchange, which largely crippled the power of one of the yoma's hands and cost her only distance, but this situation was different. The enemy was now separated from her by a void that could not be immediately closed. Should it attack Tyrin the woman would be forced to fight alone for at least one exchange of blows.

"Come over here and go quietly to your death!" Sylvia proclaimed as she rose up, hoping to draw the yoma to her, the hated Claymore.

"I may die, but I'll get your friend first!" the yoma howled, and lunged for Tyrin.

"Fall back!" Sylvia shouted desperately, hoping the soldier would simply run, praying her armor would blunt any blow in passing. Dashing forward with all she had, it was a forlorn hope, and soon shattered.

The warrior woman stood her ground, and Sylvia thought she saw every slow shimmer of yellow hair in the slightest breeze as the blow came down.

Massive and powerful was the right arm, slamming hard and with incredible strength.

Claws slammed down to smash upon Tyrin's shield.

The violent impact forced Sylvia to bite back an outcry. The strongest human man could not have taken that blow's force, much less a woman of Tyrin's build.

Yet the soldier did not fall.

Smoothly she spun, even as the blow struck, letting the yoma's force twirl her with grace and speed to its weak side, her blade ready to slice in and wound.

The demon reacted with its own great swiftness, turning far faster than any human could.

Tyrin's lips curled into a sly smile, and Sylvia realized what had just happened. By forcing itself to pivot the yoma had planted feet in place, for the next moment only it would not be able to dodge. She could not believe Tyrin had managed to seize such an advantage, but even so, it did not provide hope. What attack had the woman that could truly wound such an enemy?

A flicker of sunlight caught on the long-single edge of the soldier's broad and slightly curved blade, and then vanished, the sword seemingly gone.

_What?_ Sylvia gasped and the yoma grunted.

Metal heel impacted solidly on cobbled stone with an impassion ring as Tyrin burst into a sudden single motion. Her shield led this absolutely immediate charge, and then she was past her enemy, sliding to a stop beyond the yoma.

There had been a ring of steel, and Sylvia, following her human companion and not her enemy in her distress, was the first to observe the red and purple tinge of yoma blood on the weapon's edge.

"What did you-" the yoma howled, and then tumbled. Blood gushed from the right leg, now half-severed a handspan above the knee.

Sylvia did not hesitate. Charging in from behind, she brought her blade straight forward, flat to the ground. Strength surged through her elbows and her arms snapped forward. She plunged the triangular point of her blade directly into the back of the yoma's suddenly fixed neck. Vertebrae snapped and shattered and she pushed forward, popping the head clear off its body and snapping it away to the side.

Blood fountained briefly over the fallen foe, and then all was still but for the screams of the citizens.

The Claymore paid no attention to the panic, but fixed her eyes only on her companion, trying to get the full measure of her surprise. _You are not an ordinary soldier_, Sylvia recognized in that moment. _You are something more than that, and I will need that answer._

Tyrin simply responded with a wicked smile, shaking her head to knock the sheen of sweat from her hair. "I'm not dead weight, got that?" she asked, still with that hideous grin, obviously savoring her victory over before enemy and expectation.

"I understand," Sylvia acknowledged, speaking loudly to be heard over the still chaotic surroundings. "But please, I must ask, what was that attack you used? Your sword appeared to vanish, and then I could not track the attack."

"Mist Phantom," there was clear pride in Tyrin's voice when she named the move. "If you do it right the attack becomes seemingly quicker-than-the-eye. It's a combination of trickery and a major surge in speed. One of the best trick-maneuvers I know and one of the least expected." Tyrin flipped her blade through a few motions in the air, knocking the blood free from it, and then dropped it down to the lie at her waist once more.

Sylvia performed a similar set of moves and sheathed her own blade behind her. "As the job's done we should get moving," she told her companion. "The people are happy with us for the moment, but that will change once they start adding up the dead and wounded this little yoma rampage has cost them." Indeed, as Sylvia looked about the last of the bodies, a woman the second yoma had torn almost in half before tossing across the square was being dragged within buildings. "Our part is over; the man in black will come for the money and take care of the rest. Besides," she added as lightly as she might under the circumstances. "I dislike staring in towns filled with yoki residue; it just doesn't sit right with me, no matter how much I experience it."

"I see," Tyrin nodded. "You're probably right, let's get moving. We can stop for supplies somewhere else. Which way then?"

Sylvia considered for a moment. There was really no reason to pick any one direction over another, but she might as well choose the most pleasant path. "East I think," she decided. "There's a city not too far east of here, at the meeting of the rivers there. The road should be at least decent. That will serve well enough until something else takes us another direction."

"Right," Tyrin assented.

Leaving was not so simple of course. The mayor tried to offer them the money once again, along with profuse, though clearly not heartfelt, thanks. Sylvia brushed him away as diplomatically as she could, and urged him to tend to the wounded. She apologized for that, but only slightly, and admonished the man that he should make certain people did not come and gawk should there be a next time. It was not wise to give yoma a chance to use humans as a shield, too many took that opportunity. Sylvia hated when they did, since it almost never changed the result, only increased the numbers of innocent who perished. _I suppose that's why they're monsters though_, she reminded herself.

This afternoon as they walked, Sylvia found she could not hold back the questions inside of her. The fight had raised too many, and she craved immediate answers for reasons she was not quite sure she could fathom. So, the routine of before would not endure. "If I may," Sylvia began. "I had thought you were simply a soldier, a skilled one to be sure, your armor indicates at least that much, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. Now, I must assume that was not the truth. Even that brief display of skill, along with your poise before such a powerful foe, indicates greater achievement. Would you mind telling me more of this?"

"I've been a soldier for a long time," Tyrin began, slow and careful in her choice of words. Her voice held some pride, but little happiness. "Almost ten years now. Awfully long really, maybe it doesn't see that way to someone like you, but it's still almost half my life. More, it's taken over my life. I'm ruined for marriage, can't learn a useful trade, and I've not saved up all that much money either."

Sylvia noted that Tyrin did not mention why she had become a soldier at the youthful age of thirteen, but did not press, she would let the woman tell what she wished. There was no need or right to probe for more.

"Thing of it was, I figured that out pretty early, really it was after I switched teams the first time and went on another campaign instead of going home," Tyrin's face took on a sorrowful look. "I knew I wasn't getting out easy. Still, I guess like you and that bank account I figured I should make plans for the future. Men who stay soldiers have options, they drive caravans, or tend stables, or serve as overseer for some little lord, but it doesn't work that way for women."

Sylvia nodded silently as they walked along, not wishing to interrupt.

"I figured there was only one way to make the sword pay when I got to old, or maybe got wounded, to go onto the field," Tyrin grimaced at the possibility. "And that's to become an instructor."

"You mean to teach the sword?" Sylvia asked.

"The sword, and soldiering, weapons, campaigning, the whole nasty, messy package of how to go out there and kill people," Tyrin shrugged.

Thinking about it for a moment, an odd problem presented itself. "Are such things common?" she asked. "Most military groups are small bands, and training is, as I understand, very limited."

"Heh," Tyrin shrugged again. "You're right, it's mostly they hand you a sword or a spear and tell you to charge. Still, a few of the bigger cities have standing guard forces, especially the holy cities, and they train warriors. Not many though, so it's not easy to become an instructor. They've got to know you're the right one, which means…well."

"You have to be skilled." Sylvia finished the thought.

"Not just skilled, you've got to be the best, or close enough as they've seen to it in a while," Tyrin smiled thinly. "Especially if you're a woman. So that's how it started, I set my sights high, and then worked for it." Now her smile gained some warmth. "It wasn't easy, but I'm pretty sure I'm one of the best now," she turned to look back at Sylvia and amended. "Well, among humans anyway."

"Something to be proud of for certain," Sylvia replied. _One of the best is it? I wonder what that would be like? _For herself she was far from among the best of her own kind. "Do you have a title or honorific I should have been using?"

Tyrin laughed openly at that question, and Sylvia felt slightly embarrassed. "I should have figured you'd say that. Nah," she shook her head. "You only get a title if you work for somebody who can give you one, which obviously isn't anyone right now."

"Still," Sylvia hesitated. "If you are a swordmaster or whatever such ranks there are I should acknowledge that."

"That'd be foolish," Tyrin shook her head. "I think if you need to call yourself something like that it only means you can't prove it by what you do. Besides, I'm not too proud, all my skill means I'm just good at killing people. Worse," she looked Sylvia up and down. "I could never dream of making you call me something like that, since I'm nowhere near your match."

"The comparison is hardly fair-" Sylvia began, though she fully accepted the point.

"Enough," Tyrin slashed her hand through the air before her. "Fair's got no place in this life, so just stick with Tyrin, alright?"

"Very well," the Claymore replied.

Briefly the pair continued in silence, until the town had disappeared behind them. Then Sylvia caught sight of something interesting. A flat circle of grass lay off to the north of the rough road. She guessed it must be for the use of herders who drove their flocks this way, but it was empty now in the spring. _That could serve well_, she decided, and pulled up to a stop. "This place looks good enough for the evening," she said carefully.

"It's still early," Tyrin noted, but then turned her head to look at Sylvia. A sly smile broke out on her face. "You're up to something."

Sylvia felt slightly embarrassed that the other woman had caught her so easily. She had not thought things quite so obvious. "Well," she explained. "Originally I had wanted you to avoid fighting yoma completely. I realize that this is no longer possible. However, if days like today are to continue I must fully understand your skills, so plans can be made accordingly."

Tyrin looked past the Claymore to the grassy patch. "Not a bad spot then," she muttered. "You know, even with the rules, it's still a frightening idea." Her head shook briefly and then the falling afternoon sun caught in her gaze. "But still, kind of exciting too."

"I suppose it might be," Sylvia moved to stand apart from Tyrin as the other dropped her traveler's bag and turned to face her. Slowly she drew her blade. The human lady mirrored the action.

Notes: From this point on I have to walk a rather fine line with Tyrin's abilities. However, I feel I've hit a reasonable balance so far. After all the two warriors in Rabona legitimately aided Clare against a fairly powerful yoma specimen, so Tyrin, who is significantly better than either of them, can contribute in certain ways.


	6. Sixth Stroke: Searching Conflict

Sixth Stroke – Searching Conflict

Sylvia stared west to face Tyrin. The sun was at the human warrior's back, but the many trees made it a minimal factor in visibility. That was good, as this was meant as a demonstrative bout, so all things should be kept even. The level ground, with its soft but not too high grass, served well. The many years of use by sheep and cattle had made this place level, almost like tilled ground, so there would be little danger of twisted ankles or smashed toes.

Sylvia stood straight to her opponent, her sword carried in both hands with the edge in line with her nose. It was a basic and direct stance, and she had expected Tyrin to roughly mirror it, but the other woman was positioned differently.

Tyrin's body was turned to the side, so that she faced perpendicular to the Claymore, her right shoulder lining up with the edge of her own sword. Her shield came up tucked in across her body in the left arm, all together presenting a far narrower profile. All was loose in the other woman's stance, where Sylvia's was held hard she waved and shifted, flowing in an invisible wind. So while Sylvia faced her opponent, Tyrin's sword faced her.

Neither made a swift move, instead they studied each other silently. Sylvia found her focus drawn to the soldier's sword, a weapon unusual in her experience. It was single-edged, but the blade was broad and heavy, and slightly curved, not at all like the double-edged straight blades common to most that fought with sword and shield. Sylvia suspected Tyrin could use it very differently, almost like a cleaver in some ways, while still able to stab.

_I have an advantage in reach_, Sylvia noted the obvious. _A substantial one in fact_. Yoma were ogre-built and long of arm, and many could extend their limbs or fingers as well. Claymores carried such massive blades in part because of those very facts. Tyrin was a best marginally taller than Sylvia, not enough to compensate for the difference in their blades at all. _With reach mine, and the inevitable advantage in strength and speed this is very one-sided_. Intuitively she had known that before even proposing the match, but looking it at it like this Sylvia expected she would have to hold back carefully to even give Tyrin a chance to reveal her abilities. She hoped she could do so without embarrassing the other woman.

Yet, looking in the human soldier's eyes, Sylvia saw only fierce readiness, nothing more. Slowly she nodded to the other woman, holding her sword easily, ready, but not in any particular stance, ceding the first move.

Tyrin advanced slowly, in a sort of half-step, choppy, irregular, reminding the Claymore of waves moving up together against a shoreline. Her arms moved in a loose counterpoint swing, back and forth each, slight motions, drawing the eye back and forth, tempting it.

Sylvia was not so easily fooled by such a simple method to lull an opponent, and remained alert, focusing everywhere and nowhere, as she had been taught. Her yoki power she kept firmly suppressed, there would be no use of demonic energies in this bought, no matter what happened.

Slightly before reaching the effective range of the Claymore's massive blade Tyrin stepped a bit left, and then back, and again, side to side shifting before springing into a sudden attack straight forward.

Sylvia caught the unexpectedly straightforward maneuver easily, and smashed down a powerful block to throw Tyrin away and leave her open.

Steel crashed against steel with the eternally familiar screaming of metal. Sparks blared as the blades slid together and sang their hideous song.

Tyrin was forced to the side, but only in the slightest, her forward steps continuing unabated, only the angle shifted. Sylvia's mind flared with astonishment, for she should have thrown the woman aside, the blade had not met blade with sufficient strength.

Then she saw it there in the sparks as Tyrin's sword slid down her own as the soldier continued on, the same thing as had happened to the yoma before. The wide blade pirouetted in the air, shifting with a weathervane's fluidity against the currents of her blow, blunting the power.

_But she cannot attack with her blade like…_ Sylvia thought. _No!_

With an explosion of speed far greater than any she had expected to need in this fight the Claymore dashed backward, avoiding a forceful smash by the soldier's shield-bearing left arm.

Tyrin spun away with a cry of triumph, knowing that she had surprised her opponent. "More than one weapon!" the woman called.

Sylvia nodded briefly, angry at herself, but she forced it away, made her body be calm. Still the bitterness remained as they circled each other once more. Sylvia had thought of the shield only as a defensive measure, but that was not so. It was doubtful a blow would have harmed her much, Tyrin's strength was surely not sufficient to break Claymore bones as she might against a human foe, but she would not allow herself to be dealt a blow in this contest. _I shall not be touched by merely human strength and speed,_ Sylvia resolved. _Certainly not that I outreach it! I'm worthless against yoma if that is the extent of my power._

They closed again, this time Sylvia taking the attack. Tyrin met the blow with her shield, and spun away low, kicking out and forcing her body in under the great sword. She took an off-angle pummeling upon her shield and shoulder armor, but again forced Sylvia to hop back, this time with a series of quick in-cuts from her blade.

They broke, and then closed, and broke, and closed, again and again. The human woman's pattern was different every time, experimenting with moves and as she sought a way around Sylvia's massive blade. She did not always force Sylvia back, indeed most of the time the human warrior was hard pressed to hold off her opponent, dashing away again and again in swift spinning escapes barely ahead of the potent edge. She took a drubbing too, blow after blow against shield and armor, and never once doing more than pushing the massive blade more than slightly off course. It was bitterly one-sided.

Nevertheless time and again Sylvia found herself scowling bitterly as she was forced to rely on truly inhuman speed and strength to escape or overpower those precise and hungry slices and smashes. She could find no explanation for why, why was it happening? Cold self-loathing blossomed deep down in her at this…this failure to seize a true advantage. The urge to release yoki power, just a tiny bit, only the least of it, barely enough to change the eyes even, and hurl the irritating armored woman into a nearby tree kept returning. With every break Sylvia felt that urge and burned in shame. Where _is my control?_ She wondered desperately, and pinned her emotions down with the force of unsteady will.

Shortly both were panting as breath came hard. The sunset was in full loom above, tingeing the field where they fought with brilliant reds and long, twisting shadows.

Looking at her opponent Sylvia observed none of the intense frustration she herself battled with, but a fierce and unyielding pride. No wonder that, for she had not yet been beaten, and to fight this long with a Claymore, even one holding back, was a worthy achievement. She had not lied about her skills.

Despite this, it was obvious matters were coming to a close. Tyrin had received many blows, while Sylvia had none, and the human warrior's endurance, though substantial, paled in comparison to that of a half-human half-yoma.

"Guess this is it," Tyrin gulped down air. "Well, I might as well try something nasty, if it's the last one."

For the first time in the fight the soldier dropped into a forward facing stance, bringing the shield over and in to guard her left side. She held her sword not upright, but parallel to the ground, just out in front of the shield's edge. Only an intake of breath's time after taking this posture, she charged with all the speed still available to her.

_A crosscut?_ Sylvia wondered. The positioning implied such an attack, but she was sure it wasn't something obvious. She refused to play to the trick, instead daring in her frustration to try something she perhaps should not have.

The Claymore pulled her blade upright, and moved to meet Tyrin not with a side to side parry, but instead to smash the broad side of the blade downward and from there stab home with the point. Sylvia saw the other woman's eyes widen at the move.

Blade met blade, but only for the briefest of taps of metal, and then Tyrin's sword flashed out and under the stroke. Her advance did not stop, but she crashed further inward to Sylvia, surging with her shoulder and accepting the weak push of the edge of the massive blade.

Metal screamed, but Sylvia's eyes, catching red sunlight glaring on metal, caught that the move was by no means finished. Tyrin's lade twisted in her wrist, and the arm snapped in, bringing the blade back in a second cross cutting stroke opposite the first.

Sylvia did not withdraw, but instead made use of the great size and power of her own sword in a way she had not expected but realized would work in this moment. She pulled back and down, using the great weight of the weapon no human could properly wield to drive Tyrin's swordpoint down, twisting it as she moved.

At last the Claymore took her own blade, now parallel to the ground as well, and crosscut to slice in at her foe.

The move was fiercely powerful, and far too fast for the soldier to react. At the last Sylvia noted she had put too much force behind her move.

A storm of emotions burst through her in panic, and yoki energy exploded within. The world became suddenly clear and sharp, and everything slowed down. Sylvia saw Tyrin's mouth fall open in shock as she undoubtedly watched the distortion of the eyes from sliver to slit orbs, snake shaped and wolf gold. It was terribly shaming.

The strength of that energy served an essential purpose, no matter the shame, and Sylvia pulled up her blow at the edge of Tyrin's armor, not even touching it. "Finished," she hissed in that inhuman voice she so despised. With shaking hands she gathered her mind and directed her will, clamping down on her emotions and the yoki energy, forcing everything away, down beneath her carefully crafted web of control once more.

Tyrin slumped down in response, dropping her sword gently to the ground, a motion soon mirrored by her opponent.

"Damn," the human woman whispered, walking in slow circles about her blade, carefully shedding bits of her armor and taking great deep breaths of air. She turned to the immobile Sylvia, and looked oddly puzzled. "Won't you cramp up if you don't move?"

"No," Sylvia replied, disarmed and comforted by this odd but peaceful question. "I was only vaguely aware that such a thing was ever a problem."

"Not fair," Tyrin whispered, and the Claymore thought she detected some resentment there. "Not fair, I'll be feeling this tomorrow, and for days to come probably," she shook her head. "Really it's not fair at all," her voice grew louder. "Amazingly not fair, stronger, faster, and with the damn monster sword you've got more reach than me too!" she was clearly shouting now, and Sylvia simply stood there, not comprehending what she should do or say. "Even so I had you! I had you! I'd read the patterns, found a weak point and I knew I could get you, but then oh just then you finally decide to do the unexpected and improvise! Damn it!" She hurled her shield into the ground so hard it bounced twice and then rang solidly against Sylvia's blade as it struck where it lay.

Tyrin turned and glared into Sylvia's face, placing her head only inches from her own. "Why? Damn it!" the woman's anger was obvious and bitter. She moved her hands up, and Sylvia wondered fearfully if Tyrin would try to strike her.

"Enough!" the Claymore said firmly, and to her surprise Tyrin seemed to deflate. "Of course it is not fair," she continued carefully, quietly, shamed herself. "I am half-human half-yoma and you are only human. There was no way for you to win, and had I truly wished it I could have released my yoki and ended this instantly at any time. Still," she added. "You kept getting the better of me, and I do not know why. If you are angry, I am ashamed."

Tyrin settled to the ground slowly, squatting down, and with lazy hand motions directed Sylvia to do likewise. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Blood got a little hot there. Really it's probably best that you blocked that last move, I think I would really have cut you, I wasn't thinking. I wouldn't have been able to pull it at the last like you did."

Sylvia could almost feel just how much those words cost Tyrin, but could think of no proper reply, so she simply sat silently.

They were quiet for a time, and then idly Tyrin picked up her shield and ran her hand over it, brushing the dirt off. "You want to know why I could get to you?"

Sylvia nodded, for she was indeed puzzled, and it made her feel ashamed and weak as well. She was not content with being so vulnerable to a human's attacks, even one of the best humans and while holding back. If that was all she managed then she was not worth being half-human half-yoma. Not worthy of the sacrifice.

"Pretty simple really," Tyrin shrugged. "Technique."

"Technique?" Sylvia queried.

"Look," the warrior explained. "You beat me in strength, speed, and reach. I figure our sense of timing's about equal, but your reaction's are faster than me too. So you've got all the natural advantages. It's the rest of it where I can make up an edge."

"Could you explain?"

Tyrin gave Sylvia a careful searching look. "Let me ask this first: you only get trained to fight yoma right? And only with those huge swords of yours?"

"We receive rudimentary instruction in the methods of other weapons," Sylvia replied truthfully. "But more or less that's true."

"That's what I guessed," Tyrin shook her head slightly. "Then the simplest way to take it is this: you've been taught to butcher with you sword, while I've been taught to dance with mine."

Sylvia, not truly understanding this comment, did not say anything.

"Alright," Tyrin shrugged. "I'm not that good at explanations, but here, I'll try." She pointed to the massive sword, lying there on the ground. "You've been taught to fight in a certain way, a way that's used to kill yoma, which is what you do so it makes sense. That's the same thing they do with pikeman, teach them to stand and hold the line. That's treating battle like it's a job, as if it were the same as building houses or threshing grain or making candles or something. For the most part that works, and it's easy and effective, and produces predictable results. Officers like soldiers who fight like that, I know I do." Tyrin gave Sylvia another piercing look. "And for you, it makes even more sense. Yoma well, after today, and even before, you get a sense that they aren't like men, that they aren't in control."

"They aren't," Sylvia said quietly. "The yoma half of me is a storm of emotions. It is not human at all, but a monster."

"That's the key though," the warrior was suddenly very serious. "Fighting a yoma is like fighting an animal. It may be cunning and tricky, I saw a man who had a bear trained to dance once, but it's not like a person. Yoma are smarter than any animal, but they still aren't really like men. That's why you call yourself a 'yoma hunter' not a 'yoma killer.' Hunting is a job, but killing," and Tyrin smiled with fierce darkness. "Is an art. So say the mad anyway, and the best swordsman I ever trained with."

"I think I perhaps understand you," though Sylvia was far less certain than she made herself sound in order to let the odd comment pass by. "But of what practical use is such a thing?"

"Ah, never mind," the human soldier shook her heard rapidly. "I knew I shouldn't have said it that way. Anyway, the crux is that your technique is weak because you've channeled all your fighting instinct to do a specific thing. You don't break from it, but stay within a set of patterns, and you don't improvise. As our fight went on I was beginning to sort you out and predict your actions. You only dared to try something new at the very end. It wasn't a bad attempt that, but you should have tried to disrupt me much earlier."

"Is that the weakness you see then? Predictability?" Sylvia wondered if it might well be true, if she maintained too many set patterns. She knew very well that she'd tried to organize her life, to find things that worked and repeat them, again and again. It was something developed to keep emotion in check, to force reliance on the orderly, human side of her while burying the emotional yoma side. It was a working method, and she had no intention of abandoning it, but even so, perhaps Tyrin had a point.

"You're predictable, your motions are less efficient than they really should be, and you're weak inside your guard," Tyrin spoke more gently than before, but still with an officer's eye. "That's the fault of the size of the sword, and the reach of yoma. You don't deal with opponents who try to get inside your guard, so you're weak against attempts to do it. Close in there's openings. You saw how I tried to exploit them, making you jump back like that. If I had speed to match you…" she left it to the Claymore to draw the obvious resolution.

Sylvia made that simple leap of imagination and was not pleased. _Bad habits_, she recognized. _Very bad_. She was ashamed again, carrying such weakness with her. Perversely, she directed to change the conversation. "Did you learn all this from your swordmaster?"

"No," Tyrin shook her head. "Nothing so formal. I was never schooled like that. I had to learn on the battlefield. Once I made up my mind to become the best I always sought out the best fighters and made it so we'd beat each other up until we couldn't do it anymore. Battle's a good teacher in itself too, you see people make mistakes and just how much it costs them. You see what works and what doesn't when it really matters, and learn from your scars or die by them. It wasn't an easy road, but that's just the way it goes."

"Well then," Sylvia asked politely. "Since your technique is superior, how would you suggest I improve mine?"

Carefully the human woman stood up, and walked over to Sylvia's side, where the great sword lay. Suddenly she reached down and grasped the hilt in both hands. With a grunt she then lifted upwards.

"Wait-" Sylvia began, but then realized it would not be necessary.

Tyrin managed to lift the sword up completely off the ground, but barely, she could only get the swordpoint up by inches, the unbalanced nature of the massive blade being clearly too much for her. Swiftly she dropped it. "I could maybe carry this around a while," she muttered, clenching her hands and unclenching them rapidly to work out the strain of the grip. "But not fight with it. It's not just the weight; my strength's positioned all wrong for that thing. However, I could teach you to fight with my sword."

"Teach me to fight with that?"

"Why not?" the question was asked idly but it was fairly serious. "You don't know the weapon and I do, and it's not like you have anything better to do with your time. Besides, it might help you with that monstrous blade of yours close in, and some of the tricky techniques, well, I bet you might just be able to use them with a blade that big considering your strength. Well?"

Sylvia sat silent for a while. The offer was made in earnest, she could recognize that much. Why Tyrin would make it she did not know. She suspected, in the cold cynicism of practicality, that the soldier simply wanted to practice her teaching technique on her. Even so, that was hardly unfair of the woman, and the Claymore had to admit that the possibility of improving or at least acquiring additional skills hung there in the acceptance_. Can I do it?_ Sylvia wondered. _Can I humble myself and take instruction from a human again?_ _Me, half-human and half-yoma, who almost sliced her in half by accident this evening?_ It was there, in that dark thought, that she found her answer. _Yes, I can, for if I was weak enough to make that mistake then Tyrin is right and my technique is lacking. _

Shame coursed through her, deep and cold and she looked away from the soldier's face. "Very well," Sylvia said with cool separation from her feelings. "You may teach me the way of your sword and shield; not, however, as master and pupil, but as two women only."

"Good, good," Tyrin nodded carefully. "Here's hoping it works out, frankly, I could use some practice against someone so much stronger and faster than me. It'll help me push my own abilities."

"When should we get started?" Sylvia wondered, concerned the other woman, in her direct and soldierly way, would want to get going immediately.

"After these bruises heal," Tyrin laughed, and Sylvia found herself giggling just slightly as well. "There's no rush anyway, well take things as we feel like it. That's how it goes between jobs doesn't it?"

"More or less, yes," Sylvia replied without any joy or sorrow.

"Then I suppose it time to start making dinner," Tyrin swung herself fully upright and headed for an old firepit at the edge of the trees. "I'm not skipping meals after fighting."

Without saying anything more Sylvia went to gather wood as she had before_. It will be nice to have a fire tonight_, she thought with an unusually idle pleasantness.

Notes: I seem to have acquired a rather insulting review, anonymously of course. I consider myself open to criticism but I dislike bland and inaccurate insults (honestly, if my characters are Mary Sues then so is the entire cast of Claymore). Nevertheless I have left it in the interest of high-mindedness. To everyone else I welcome critical commentary, so long as it has some value beyond simply sniping.


	7. Seventh Stroke: Bloody Mixing

Seventh Stroke – Bloody Mixing

Outwardly the village was nothing remarkable. It was a double ring of houses backed against a fairly steep hill in the midst of decent, but not great, farmland. Wheat, barley, and other crops rose high in the summer sun, and cattle and sheep grazed on steep pastures above on the hillside. A fairly defensible place, as villages went, but otherwise nothing notable.

Yet it was wrong, totally wrong. The reek of yoma fairly flooded out from the village, lying everywhere thick in the air, hideous and clinging, a soapy fragrance coating everything, as if the whole world had been bathed in yoma blood. Sylvia could almost see purple tinges at the edges of her vision, it was so forceful.

_This makes no sense_, she cringed as they approached the village. _It feels like a nest, but that cannot be._ Nests were a sad facet of reality; whole villages consumed and replaced by yoma so they became malignant cesspits until some merchant group mustered the ruinous price to have the organization clean it out. Sylvia had experienced that a few times, but it should not be now. A nest clearing was a team operation for all but the very best Claymores, which she was not. Only Tyrin was with her now. _Luny would not send me against a nest alone, he would not._ She was sure of that much, even though she was never completely certain of the man in black's goodwill. Nevertheless, she trusted that he would not waste her life so pointlessly or obviously. _Something is very wrong._

The Claymore was good at concealing her moods and emotions from everything, so it surprised Tyrin when she stopped suddenly some distance from the village. "What is it?" Tyrin asked uncertainly. "You don't intend to try keeping me back again do you? I thought we'd finished with that."

"No," Sylvia replied, whispering without realizing it. "It's nothing about you, but there's something wrong here."

"Something wrong?" Tyrin gave the village a cool look. "Nothing special about this place to me…" she hesitated. "Though…now that I think about it, there aren't as many men in the fields as you might expect."

As a Claymore Sylvia's gauge on such aspects of human life was poor, but she had come to recognize Tyrin's insight in such matters as highly accurate. It was something she'd learned as a soldier, to notice things out of the ordinary. "Why might that be?" she asked, searching for an explanation, any explanation that might explain the incomprehensible situation she sensed.

"There could be a thousand reasons," the soldier replied matter-of-factly. "Sickness over the winter, bandit depredation, or even a festival this evening. And people might just cluster together and stay in their homes if there's yoma about. Why do you think something's wrong?"

"My senses don't match what I was told to expect. One yoma or two," that had been what Luny informed her. "The evidence of their presence is far too strong, there's yoki energy everywhere it's like…" she struggled, and then a bit of memory tripped again as she turned to look at Tyrin. "It's like the day I met you."

"What?" there was a very nasty look, part shock and part anger, on her face at that pronouncement.

"It is," Sylvia was suddenly sure of it, everything matched up, and it was too close a match to be coincidence. This is not random, she realized, and cold trepidation birthed deep within her. For now though, she dared not carry the thought any further. Instead, she needed to find a way to complete the task she had been given. "That time I felt yoki everywhere, because the yoma had been walking about the town openly, in its true shape, not hidden as a human. This is the same. That means there are people here conditioned to fight with the yoma."

"Damn," Tyrin hissed. Then, turning to Sylvia with a very serious expression, she met the Claymore's silver eyes. "We should turn back."

"Turn back?" Sylvia could barely believe it.

Tyrin's expression never wavered. "Turn back, yes. We don't know what's in there, how many men, how many yoma, there's no idea. If this is some yoma, or worse, some bandit, who heard about what happened before, I'm sure, sure, he's made it worse. More men, more yoma, something, something to make it more dangerous, and we're the same as before."

"I cannot turn back, even if I wish to," Sylvia spoke distantly, carefully, making sure there was no malice in her voice. "The assignment was given; to refuse it would be an act of desertion."

"Desertion? The situation has changed!" Tyrin was vehement. "Walking in there is like taking a unit into a place you know there's an ambush set and not taking any precautions beforehand. It's not desertion to turn around and get more information first!"

"Tyrin, please," Sylvia admonished as gently as she could, for it was not the other woman's fault. "For me, it would be desertion. A job, once given, must be attempted. There are no exceptions, otherwise we would always run, for who would willingly go looking for yoma? I can retreat if defeated in the face of the enemy, but there is no way to avoid going into that village for me today." Sylvia paused, and considered something. _Tyrin is in many ways right_, she thought darkly. _Forewarned is not forearmed here, this may well be a death trap_. She forced herself not to sigh, and spoke the horribly hard words; she had never expected it to be so hard to say. "I have to go, but you can stay here, I won't hold it against you. My rules don't bind you. I'll handle things myself, if I can, or if it is beyond my abilities I'll try to retreat. You do not need to risk your life like this."

The human woman stepped back as if she'd been slapped. She was silent for a long breath, her face transforming into a hideous glower. When she spoke at last her voice was taught with enforced control. "Do you think I would abandon you now, after all the nights and all the jobs of these past months just because it finally gets really bad? I'm not that weak Sylvia, don't think I am."

"I apologize," Sylvia interjected, and meant it, though she desperately hoped Tyrin had not been speaking from her pride then. "I don't think you are like that," and she didn't, surprising as it was to accept a human would stand by you in such a fashion. "But I had to make the offer."

"Alright," it was at best partial forgiveness.

"However," the Claymore petitioned the human. "If you are so opposed to go into this, but we have to go anyway, what should we do?"

Tyrin slowly sat down, in the middle of the battered road. "We need some kind of tactic," she said quickly. "Thing is, I was never good at that part. Lead a group of men to take an objective for sure, but besiege a town, that's too much for me."

Sylvia squatted beside her companion, thinking carefully. She suspected her own abilities in this area where not great either. Killing yoma was about force, and individual swordplay. Her kind only rarely worked in teams, and they weren't all that good at it. Besides, she'd never been a team leader anyway. "What's the first step?" she tried to prompt their minds along a pathway.

"Well, we should look at it from the opponent's perspective; try to figure out what they want to do."

This made sense to Sylvia, and she considered, thinking both on the village ahead, and the one long past, where this had happened before. "They want to kill me," she told Tyrin with sudden certainty. "It's a trap to kill the hunter who comes."

"A trap, right, a trap," Tyrin mumbled. "That makes a kind of sense. Lure you in with obvious evidence of yoma and then hit with humans you can't kill. Okay," she nodded her head slowly and tapped the ground with her armored fingers. Sylvia guessed the soldier was recalling old lessons. "With a trap you've either got to avoid springing it or spring it so it hits what you want it to, and not what they want it to. It'll have to be the second since we can't avoid going into the village, but how…"

Sylvia thought about it as well, wondering, and seeing no obvious solution. _The trap requires a Claymore enter the village, and there's no way to avoid that. I have to do that job._ She looked at Tyrin, and had a wistful thought. _Pity she can't kill yoma, she'd have no trouble with this then, since she'd just cut through the humans._

_Cut through the humans…_

Sylvia stood up suddenly, surprised at what had just entered her head, not really believing. She looked at Tyrin carefully, and saw again what she had seen before, long ago, a thing she had tucked away in her memory. _She could almost be one of us. _

"We can switch places," she told the surprised human warrior.

"What?" Tyrin clearly didn't understand Sylvia's sudden inspiration.

"I need you to be me," Sylvia explained, keeping her voice steady. "They want to trap a Claymore, not a half-human half-yoma. Humans can't sense yoki, so they won't have any innate way to tell. If they try to trap you, then they'll have hit the wrong target."

"Maybe," Tyrin admitted. "But how much difference will that make? Any sizeable group of men can overwhelm me. Besides, how could I pretend to be you? I don't have silver eyes."

"True, but everything else matches, and the eyes cannot be seen from a distance," Sylvia noted, convinced at this point that it would indeed work. "You have gray eyes, not brown or green, the difference will not be obvious, and probably these men have never seen one of us before."

"Okay, but there's still going to be yoma, and I can't take all this on myself." Tyrin grimaced. "I'll have to have your sword to complete the disguise, so how will you do anything?"

"I'll use yours," Sylvia answered, anticipating this question. "You've taught me to use it well enough, and though it's not the best for killing yoma, I can use it so. All that will be needed are a few moments of surprise."

"You'll use mine?" Tyrin's eyes went wide. "Well, I suppose you could at that, but where's that leave me? You can fight with my sword, but I can't fight with yours."

Sylvia paused a moment, considering that point. Such a thing was very true. In point of fact it probably was impossible for Tyrin to so much as draw the blade from its back holster, a maneuver that required tremendous strength and some practice to accomplish. Despite this, Sylvia hesitated to abandon the idea, it seemed so workable otherwise. _There must be another weapon besides our two swords_. Then she remembered.

"Here," Sylvia reached down among the pieces of her hip armor and pulled out two small objects. They were slender daggers, lightly curved, and sparkly with brand new shine when Sylvia pulled them from their sheaths.

Tyrin reached out to take the small weapons with careful fingers, sliding her nail along one edge, taking its measure. "These blades have never been used before," she said with confidence. "How long have you had them?"

"As long as I've had the sword," Sylvia answered, somewhat surprised at herself when she said it, but that was the truth. "I simply have never needed them. They are useless to kill yoma with; we are only issued them because apparently there were accidents long ago. It's just so we can have an emergency weapon in case our swords break."

"You've really never had to use them?" Tyrin appeared unconvinced. "Seems a bit too lucky."

"There's always been something else better available," Sylvia shrugged. "I killed a yoma with a shovel once. Even that can manage more force than those. Still, would they work for you?"

Tyrin passed the blades from hand to hand, slowly. "The balance is good, and they are very sharp. For a few moments it would do, but I still don't like this plan. There's too many risks."

There was a dark look on the warrior's face, and Sylvia felt her convictions waver. The risks were real, she could not ignore that. It took only a moment's imagination to see how this deception could turn into a disaster. _But is there any better choice?_ She could not see it if so. _Surprise is valuable, and this will be the last thing they expect._ Yet, for all that she wished to make the attempt Sylvia knew she had no right to force things over Tyrin's objections. "If you are unwilling we can try to come up with a better idea, but I do not see it."

"No, damn it, let's do it, I guess," Tyrin barked, her emotions bleeding into her words. "I'm just afraid I'm going to get skewered. I'm used to fighting in armor you know, not all exposed like that. Will your outfit even fit me anyway?"

"The fabric will stretch," Sylvia knew that for certain. "You are not so much bigger than me to tear it. I think the same size fits almost all of us."

"My armor won't fit you properly you know," the soldier admonished. "I had it made for me alone. I can maybe tighten the straps some, but it's not going to be ideal. "

"I'll manage," Sylvia had considered saying she would simply forgo the armor, but she had a vague sense that Tyrin wouldn't allow her to borrow only the sword and shield. _It might_, she reflected, _even be a bit useful in case of arrows and bolts._

"Okay then, let's do this before I lose my nerve." Tyrin shuffled off the road into the wheat field that bordered it. There, covered from prying eyes by the tall grass, she began to strip off her armor.

The Claymore mirrored the human's actions with an odd sense of foreboding. They had so far managed to avoid seeing each other naked despite all the traveling together. It was not clear why, as neither of them were particular modest, it was not something either the organization's or a soldier's training would allow one to retain. Nevertheless, to wear each others clothes felt like the breach of some kind of barrier that had previously existed and been honored without any need for words.

_It cannot simply be disguising myself_, Sylvia admonished herself. _I've pretended to be human before. So why?_ Her thoughts spun about for a moment before settling on a possibility. _Perhaps, though I have masked my yoma side before I have never pretended to be someone else who is truly a person. I am not Tyrin, is it right for a half-human half-yoma to pretend to such a thing?_ With long practiced control she pushed those thoughts away. It was something to worry about after dealing with this troubling situation, not now.

Tyrin passed Sylvia the fabric undergarment to her armor without looking at her, obviously avoiding the sight of her front side. Sylvia regretted that, but understood it, for who would want to look on such a thing? Slowly she stepped into the garment, finding it rougher than her own uniform, and somewhat loose as well, but not uncomfortable.

With only the base white piece on the warrior approached Sylvia. "I'll help you put my armor on first. It's complicated and I'd rather not try it after having put all yours on."

Sylvia nodded, and piece by piece they put together the plate armor. It took some time, and involved more buckles and clasps than Sylvia had realized. She admired how quickly Tyrin was able to go through this process each morning, for it took much longer this time. At the end, with great reluctance, the soldier passed over the sword and shield, buckling swordbelt into place and strapping on the rounded protection. Sylvia, standing motionless as it all went on, noted a curious expression on her companion's face when she proffered the helmet, the very last piece.

"What is it?" the Claymore asked.

"It's just, well, I hadn't realized how much of it was the uniform," Tyrin seemed slightly ashamed. "Even with it not fitting quite right, the way you are now makes you look almost…normal."

"What?" it was a whisper of surprise. Sylvia looked down at the steel plated arms and legs, trying to see what Tyrin saw, but unable to take it all in.

Then the human warrior held up one of her shoulder pauldrons so Sylvia could see her own reflection. "I…" she was speechless, and something in her own image bent. She had worn a disguise before, when hiding her true nature, but never something so different, never without the end of the sword over her shoulder. Looking at that reflection, it was possible, if only for the most flickering of impressions, to imagine that she was no longer half-human half-yoma, no longer what men called a Claymore.

Yoki stirred deep within, and the illusion dissipated, leaving only sadness behind. _It is in fact a lie_, Sylvia realized in that heart wrenching moment, and forbid herself to cry. _The uniform might be gone, but that uniform is what I really am. This is only a fiction, doomed to fade._

"You all set?" Tyrin's question broke the reverie. "You can move about okay and everything? Better make sure, plate armor can take some getting used to."

It was practical advice, and Sylvia made a point to follow it, shuffling about a bit and seeing how she could move. The armor clattered noisily as parts slipped against each other, and it was somewhat restricting, but not greatly. She ruled out acrobatics, but otherwise everything appeared acceptable. "I suppose it's your turn then," Sylvia told Tyrin.

It was much faster to slip on the various pieces of a Claymore's armor and gear to Tyrin than it had been to put on the soldier's armor. Much of it was done by Tyrin herself, without any need for assistance, though Sylvia had to lift up and place the sword on carefully.

Tyrin took a few experimental steps, wobbly. "Grr, my balance is all screwed up," she muttered. "This damn sword of yours is too heavy."

"Will you be alright?" Sylvia asked, uncertain as she saw how off the other woman's usually very supple movements were. The difference in weight distribution bothered her little because of her strength, but obviously such could not be said for one who lacked it.

"I'll manage," Tyrin groused, clanking about. "Though it would help if I could dump the sword quick if it comes to fighting."

"If you rip off the clasp in the center everything will fall away," Sylvia explained quickly. "You'll lose the sword, but also the shoulder guards."

"Worth it," the soldier decided aloud. Then she added, "You know, I feel awfully exposed wearing this thing," she ran her hands down the taught white garment. "It's almost well…vulgar."

Sylvia laughed briefly, but it was bitter. Tyrin had a point, and it led to unpleasant thoughts about why the uniform was indeed designed in such a fashion. "Bear with it, please." It was better not to broach such topics.

"Right," the soldier grimaced but shrugged. "So how do we do this then? I go in from the front and draw their attention and then what?"

"I'll dash up and in along the left side," Sylvia pointed up to the village. "There's a hedgerow there I can use for cover to approach."

"So then you attack the yoma, I try to stay alive, and then what?"

"Hopefully they'll run from us then," Sylvia offered. "It happened last time."

"And if they don't?" Tyrin was not convinced.

"Then we run," Sylvia decided. "Human fighters aren't part of the job. Without yoma to help them I'm sure I can cover your escape."

"Got it," the soldier's conviction returned. "Well then, let's not waste any more time and get too it."

"Very well," Sylvia answered. "I promise you, I will be there. I mean it." She truly hoped Tyrin believed her, believed enough in a half-human half-yoma to know she wouldn't be left behind.

"Of course you will," Tyrin's reply was swift, but Sylvia could not be sure it was devoid of doubt, and she knew that they still did not trust each other.

Sylvia watched with much trepidation as the soldier advanced upon the village, moving up the road in an effective mirror of her own, regular walking pace. From behind there was absolutely nothing to indicate that she was not a Claymore. Only the lack of any sensation of yoki served that purpose. _It is funny_, Sylvia recognized. _Only my inhuman side allows me to know that she is a human._

Slowly she followed, moving across the road and into a field of barley as she advanced up to the village some distance behind Tyrin. The separation was tense, but not so much as it might have been for another human. With her speed the distance could be closed in moments, so Sylvia was only a little worried. More she hoped the overall plan would be successful.

Tyrin reached the edge of the buildings at the moment Sylvia reached the hedgerow. From there it was no longer possible to see.

_I must move quickly_, Sylvia told herself, dashing along the green wall and in among the buildings. _Suppress my own yoki, make certain I can't be noticed_. She reached the edge of the half-timber buildings to the first stirrings of a raucous from the village. _It's beginning, I have to move!_ She recognized now that speed was essential, or Tyrin might end up dead in a mishap and the whole plan be ruined. _I have to find the yoki, even in all this messy saturation; I must identify the yoma now! _It was not easy, with the residue of their activity everywhere picking out the yoma would be unusually difficult, and Sylvia was no expert reader of yoki. She wasn't the worst, but merely average. Now though, she needed to be better.

"Well, well, look what came to call," a loud, smug voice called from where Tyrin had gone.

Sylvia leapt from one building to another, grimacing at the clatter the armor made of the movement, but thankfully all was covered by a loud chorus of jeers.

From there, on the inner ring of buildings, the Claymore could at last see everything.

Tyrin stood at the edge of the central square, her head downcast. A half ring of men surrounded her, all with spears, and ready to strike. Behind them the square was filled with a loose gaggle of men with mismatched bows and crossbows. Three men stood in the middle, and they had made one key mistake in their otherwise excellent setup. They were unarmed.

Sylvia didn't even need to read the yoki then, she was already acting before she gained assurance from her extra sense. She charged forward across the rooftop, ripping the sword free, feeling its true weight for the first time, so different from the sticks she and Tyrin had always practiced with; not daring their emotions with real blades. It was a comforting heftiness, powerful and filled with killing strength.

"Come on, look up little one," one of the yoma laughed, still in human form. "Or are you too ashamed that we got you?"

"You guessed wrong!" Sylvia shouted, letting her anger rip free as she leapt of the roof of the building. Heads turned to match her voice, but they were too late to react as she came down with brutal speed, slamming the sword through the skull of the first yoma.

_Two more, I have to move!_ Sylvia struck out with her left arm, using the shield to push the already dead body, its skull in two ragged pieces, off her sword and to its companion, already changing into its true form.

"What's happening!" someone shouted.

Out of the corner of her eye Sylvia saw Tyrin explode into motion. The human woman pulled both daggers and jumped inside spear points in a deft spin. Two men went down and Tyrin dropped away the Claymore's sword only to come up with a spear before Sylvia could not spare even the barest bit of her attention anymore.

The yoma closest to her fielded the sprawling corpse of its fellow and tossed it aside, using both hands, a big mistake.

Sylvia seized the opening this offered. She plunged forward, and speared the yoma in the stomach with a quick thrust, a simple move from the shorter blade, but clearly not one the demon had expected.

The creature started to laugh, for it had not been pierced in a fatal place, but Sylvia was not done. She put her shield arm under her right hand and with all her strength ripped upward.

Purple blood coated the blade as it pulled free leaving a massive hideous gash in the yoma.

Recognizing the danger of his foe the final yoma tried to circumvent the problem entirely. He simply grabbed her sword with his left arm. Sylvia let him, recognizing the mistake immediately. She blocked the right hand with shield and shoulder, feeling the blow to her bones, but unharmed. Then she jumped up, striking the yoma's left arm with her shield, freeing the sword once more.

Quickly and easily she took off his head.

Sylvia's attention snapped from narrowed to wide again as the yoma fell. With a simple shift of the shield she blocked a panicked crossbow bolt. "Foolish," she hissed, pinning the man, little more than a boy, who had made the attempt beneath a silver glare.

Within inhumanly swift strides she bore down on the youth, and then made a second surprising discovery about using Tyrin's gear. A Claymore's sword was not easy to use on a human without inflicting a lethal wound, but a one-armed shield combined with half-human half-yoma strength could shatter shoulders and render a foe unable to fight with a single move.

Sylvia spun about, moving swiftly through the chaotic fray as men dropped their bows, held them taking desperate aim, or managed the occasional shot. Her vision sought out Tyrin then.

The human warrior stood unscathed, slashing about with a stolen spear at men who did not dare close with her. Sylvia recognized that these men, whoever they were, could not be true soldiers. They had been told no Claymore would attack them, and faced with someone who would, someone of greater skill than their own, they had not the will to fight.

Chaos enveloped the square as some men fought, some men ran, and some simply collapsed in place, throwing down weapons and gear. Carefully but quickly Sylvia made her way through the disorganized fray, laying about her against anyone who approached and blocking the occasional random missile, to meet up with Tyrin.

Striking and shifting with her borrowed spear the soldier moved with practiced care, but not the usual grace of her swordplay. It was easy to tell she was not a master of the longer weapon. "Here," Sylvia lightly tossed the purple-bloodied sword back to her companion. "I can make do with the shield."

Tyrin caught the blade with ease, dropping the spear away, and spinning about to run a man through without stopping. Most everyone else now fled, unwilling or unable to stand before the tandem of Claymore and human. "Let's mop this up," the soldier grunted, moving to Sylvia's side.

"Indeed," she nodded.

What followed was decidedly unpleasant, as the two rushed through those who fled and struck them down. Sylvia inflicted no lethal blows, but Tyrin dealt out more than her share, putting down any wounded man who dared try to stand or hold a weapon. The soldier's face was grim but focused, and Sylvia thought she understood. These men had dared to side with yoma, and so there could be no mercy. They would have to escape or die. No prisoners would be taken.

Despite this, Sylvia found it oddly sickening to be involved in such a fight. Turning her force against humans was a very foreign thing to her, never before had she done so en masse in this fashion. To let people die was one thing, but to act in this manner seemed to skirt the edge of her conscience. It was not that she had sympathy for these wretches, only that somehow, someway, it felt that a killer of yoma should not dirty her hands with humanity. Unable to come to any swift solution in the midst of combat the Claymore simply pushed the thoughts away, resolving not to think or worry on it for present. More important matters pressed.

The end came in silence, as everyone had either managed to flee, perished, or slunk away to nurse their wounds out of sight. What remained was a grim scene, filled with broken bodies and human and yoma blood mixing foully in the center of the village.

"I'm not sure if this qualifies as a battle," Tyrin mused morbidly as she looked over the tableau. "But it sure matches a battlefield."

Stubbornly Sylvia squelched the hideous impulse to count the dead. That was not important, only the three yoma bodies were meaningful. She focused on those, avoiding the human remains. Dead yoma did not make her feel anything; it was much easier to accept.

"What do we do now?" Tyrin wondered aloud. "This isn't like any of the other jobs. Maybe we should pile them up and burn them?" It was a modestly charitable impulse, considering the circumstances.

"No," Sylvia said, feeling anger at last, and recognizing what must happen. "Leave them."

"But-" Tyrin spread her bloodstained hands, the once white garments now well and fully rust colored.

"I know," Sylvia shook her head. She was well aware that few people seemed to remain in this town, and those were terrified, not stirring even now to examine what had happened. Left alone the bodies could well rot and fester, spreading pestilence. Even so, her resolve backed by cold and cruel anger, anger not yoma in origin, but fully human, was firm. "I want to make certain he sees this, so he doesn't shrug it off."

Tyrin blinked rapidly, and then nodded. She had gleaned more than a little about how things went between Claymore and organization as they traveled together. "All right," she answered simply. "I don't like it, but since it's your job, its your choice."

_My responsibility indeed_, Sylvia acknowledged, feeling slightly sick about it. "People!" she shouted in her loudest voice, making certain it carried. "I have fulfilled the request to kill the yoma in this village! You now owe the price of three yoma! I suspect you cannot pay. Negotiate as you can with the man in black who comes, or flee this place. That is all!"

"What happens if they don't pay?" Tyrin questioned. "Everyone else has so far."

"Nothing immediately," Sylvia replied. "But in the future no request will be answered, no matter what happens." She shook her head again, thinking on what was likely to happen to this little village that surely had lost all its riches to those who sided with the yoma. "Yoma seem to find out about that pretty quickly. Villages die soon after." _Hopefully these people will have the good sense to leave this place,_ Sylvia thought. _I have given my warning, I can do no more._

"That's cold-blooded," Tyrin sighed. "But, it's business I guess. I've done my time as a mercenary too, and when the money runs out the unit preserves its own first. 'Suppose that's just how it goes."

"Let's go," Sylvia said, not wanting to spend any more time in this ruin of a village. The death and yoki residue was a foul concoction to her senses. "We need to get cleaned off and changed." Forcing a bit of levity she added. "I think this armor of yours will start chaffing if I stay in it too long."

"It might," Tyrin offered half a smile, but her energy was simply not in the jest, and the pair marched out of the village in silence, neither one desiring or daring to look back on it.

Sylvia was left only with one overriding thought to brood upon. _If this happened twice, it is going to happen again. This is not an ending._

Notes: The daggers Sylvia gives to Tyrin are intended to be the same as the ones Clare used in the Rabona incident. I'm making an assumption that such weapons are issued to all Claymores but they only get used on rather irregular occasions.


	8. Eighth Stroke: Coarse Residue

Eighth Stroke – Coarse Residue

"You look like hell," it was the first thing Luny said after performing his usual materialize from the shadows optical chicanery.

Sylvia was not in a particularly good mood. The ghosts of the day were proving substantially more difficult to banish than usual, and interwoven with dreadful, ridiculous speculations about the future she was decidedly unsettled. It took a great deal of effort to keep things contained before the man in black's obviously mocking tone. "I apologize for my appearance," Sylvia said slowly. "I did wash the uniform with as much effort as time allowed, but some of the stains simply would not be removed."

That was rather an understatement. Tyrin, fighting in close with the borrowed daggers, stolen spear, and later using her own sword for the necessary butchering, had gotten the white uniform quite thoroughly coated in human blood, particularly on the legs. It had not been completely unanticipated, but Sylvia had been forced to acknowledge just how much the normal half-human half-yoma speed and the length of their great blades served to insulate them from the red stains of battle.

"That's not yoma blood," it wasn't a question. Luny shook his head slowly, and raised his left hand to his forehead in his habit. "You know, the reports are really messy. None of the adults in that village had the courage to watch your little fracas. I had to extract information from a man who'd had both arms amputated and an eight year old girl who dared to watch out a window. It was very troublesome."

"I cannot see how I could have done anything to change that," Sylvia spoke cautiously. "I left the scene as it was for you to see, was that much at least useful?"

"A bit," Luny grumbled. "Awfully confusing though, along with the reports." He shook his head again, faster this time. "You know Sylvia, they were saying it was a Claymore who marched into town and started killing the soldiers. The way they tell it the whole thing was pretty merciless. Almost two dozen dead, and probably as many who ran, and here you are in a uniform soaked in human blood…"

"I would hope you would not simply tease me about such matters," Sylvia said softly. "It has not been a pleasant day."

"Fine then, I'll be blunt," he groused. "What happened? Did you kill those men?"

"No," Sylvia's voice was firm and her response immediate. "I injured a number of them, I suspect including the amputee you spoke to, but I did not so much as cut as single human today."

"I don't think you're a good enough liar for you to say an untruth straight to my face like that," Luny remarked. "But that hardly squares with the descriptions. If you didn't kill those men who did?"

"Tyrin did," Sylvia informed him.

"So it's the swordswoman huh?" Luny took his hand from his head, twisting it slowly through the air, fingers twisting randomly. "Then why did that little girl give me a very nice description of someone in what is assuredly that same bloody uniform you're wearing, putting a sword through a man's chest as he slumped against a window? She was very clear, aside from all the crying, and children are usually surprisingly honest."

"I suspect you are correct," Sylvia answered, and carefully, feeling her petulance, took her chance to jab Luny back a little. It probably wasn't the best approach, but she was feeling awfully irritated by this interrogation. "As certainly that happened, but what that young lady almost certainly did not realize is that Tyrin was wearing the uniform at the time."

"The swordswoman was?" Luny froze completely, as if he had encountered something completely impossible and unprecedented. Sylvia had never seen him do that before. Then he burst out laughing, a cruel, gravelly noise devoid of warmth. "So that's it, you switched places. It makes sense then, why none of the bodies had wounds fitting your sword, not even the yoma. It explains the part about the Claymore wielding a spear too, that didn't make any sense before. Amazing…"

Sylvia just watched him silently in the moonlight. To her it was not at all funny. It had been a desperate stratagem, and though a success, had cost both of them something they could not truly name.

"So then you killed the yoma with the woman's sword?" Luny clarified.

"That is correct," Sylvia explained and added, anticipating the question. "And I used her shield to wound and disperse the rest of the humans."

"Well, well," Luny's left hand retreated under his cowl again. "That's good then, you managed to get through that mess without breaking the rules. A very enterprising solution, and now I don't have to worry about a termination order, that's good."

Somehow, standing in the darkness, Sylvia nursed the suspicion that Luny had never truly suspected her of killing any of the humans, but had made her go through this whole process to remind her of the seriousness of the rule. It bothered her, but she could not truly be mad at him for it. _Perhaps he is justified, at that_, she thought darkly. The rule did get broken from time to time, sometimes because one of them snapped, but equally often because one of her kind thought she could just get away with it and not report the incident. Plenty of them nursed poor attitudes toward humans, Sylvia herself cared little for most of them, and Tyrin was clearly an exception, not the rule.

As Luny momentarily paused, Sylvia took the opportunity to raise the question she had known she must ask from the moment it became clear she would survive the trap. "What is the cause of what I just went through today?"

"The cause?" Luny fidgeted slightly. "Meaning?"

"This is the second time," Sylvia forced herself to speak levelly, appropriately. "There may be some time separating them, but it is still the second time. Either this was someone who learned of what happened before and tried to copy it, or its someone who's been arranging things behind the scenes and is gradually planning for more. Either way, something is wrong. What is allowing this abominable human-yoma alliance?"

"I have no idea," Luny answered dejectedly, and Sylvia realized that he wasn't simply hiding information; the disappointment in his voice was just too real. "I investigated the last time, nothing turned up. I thought it was just a yoma with a bright idea." He shook his head, and this time kept shaking it. "But this is too deliberate, it was a trap, a trap specifically designed to get one of you. This time they even ruined the village too, so there's nothing to show for it, one less paying customer in the world."

Sylvia declined to comment on that bit, she did not know if Luny was uncaring, jaded, or simply talking about it that way to avoid emotion. It was perhaps unfair to assume the worst from him.

"The organization will investigate, fully," he promised. "We'll find out who's behind this and a way to get rid of it. We can't have this sort of thing spreading; it'd be terrible for business."

This was hardly the most reassuring of motives to the Claymore, but at least the man in black was serious. "What about until then?" Sylvia wondered. "I only recognized this trap because I had experienced it before, and that time I survive only due to highly fortuitous coincidence. There is a threat to us here. Can something be done about it?"

"Hmm…" Luny's hand dropped from his cowl to his side. "I'll pass the word along to be more careful about examining jobs, maybe we can find a pattern. For the rest well, you'll just have to keep a sharp eye won't you?"

A non-answer, about what Sylvia had expected. Luny probably had some other reason and plan, but he clearly didn't intend to disclose it. She hadn't thought he would, though it would have been nice if he had. "Very well, I'll make a point to be cautious," she announced. _And I will make certain any of us I come across receives word of this_, she added to herself. Another worrisome possibility presented itself to her when she thought about the situation. _I was lucky to survive the first time, impossibly lucky. If there have been other incidents there may well have been deaths. If so then no one would know_. She didn't tell this to Luny, he surely could make the connection on his own, and must have a better idea of who might fit that profile than she would, but it stroked her anger, so she made an uncharacteristic choice. "When you do find out who is responsible, I would like to be considered to join the mission to clean up the source."

"Rare of you to request something like that," Luny noted. "Fine though, I suppose you've got as much a right as any, considering. If the logistics work out, look forward to it."

"I suppose I shall," Sylvia replied with no real enthusiasm. Another brutal massacre was not precisely her idea of an ideal job, but she felt responsible in a way.

"Heh," he grumbled. "In the meantime, I've got another job for you, a big one, a nest."

Surprise surely showed on Sylvia's face from the flippant motion of Luny's hand that followed, and she was slightly ashamed. Yet the assignment was significant enough to justify a minor lapse in control, if anything was. "A nest," she confirmed.

Luny just nodded. "To the northwest, it's a small village north of Treadersberg; which happens to be the meeting point. You need to make it there in a week and a half."

Sylvia knew the region of her assignment and the surrounding areas very well by now. Treadersberg from her current position would be a hard push to make in a week and a half. It would mean many very long days on the march, stopping only when they'd made the right distance, not at convenient towns. She hoped Tyrin could keep up. _Well, at least she can rest when we get there_, Sylvia noted. There was no way the human warrior would be coming on this particular mission.

"So, try not to be late will you, it looks bad," Luny clearly meant it looked bad for him; he didn't care about her reputation. "You've always managed to be on time in the past, I'd hate to see that woman cause you to develop bad habits. Though maybe it's good that she's been teaching you, you might come back a little less roughed up this time."

"I will be on time," Sylvia spoke firmly. To be late would be bad procedure, and she didn't mess things like that up. "Will I get a new uniform in Treadersberg?"

"Yeah, though you might as well not wear it until after you're done, considering," Luny quipped.

The Claymore thought that a crass comment, but the man had a point. Cleaning out a nest was going to be messy, that much was unavoidable.

Luny didn't bother to say anything more; he simply turned and walked back into the shadowy darkness, ending the conversation with silence.

Sylvia made herself forgo a grimace, and walked back through the woods to the roadside clearing where Tyrin waited by a small fire.

Oddly the human woman did not look up as Sylvia returned, but simply continued staring into the flickering flames, her attention elsewhere. Sitting down beside her there was still not reaction. Not wanting to speak, but curious and unwilling to simply sit in silence, the Claymore picked up a piece of wood and tossed it into the fire, causing a crackling crash of sparks and embers.

"W-what?" Tyrin's voice seemed to come from far away, and her eyes were on something not within the clearing. "Oh, you're back, sorry."

"You seem distracted,' Sylvia noted cautiously. "Is there a problem?"

The other woman's head jerked around suddenly, and gray eyes met silver. Slowly her face acquired a wan smile. "That's a new one, you asking me if I'm alright. I'm not sure if I should be happy or if it's just that pathetic."

_Am I truly so uncaring?_ Sylvia wondered. When she couldn't answer herself immediately she looked away from Tyrin, hiding a frown she couldn't manage to bury completely. It was embarrassing, to not be able to accept more from this woman who had sacrificed to travel with her, who had give her sword arm and her companionship and gained so little in return. _I had wanted to become her friend_, Sylvia remembered. _Now I wonder I am even capable of having a friend._

"Honestly," Tyrin's voiced crept into the fire's crackles. "This sure isn't the best night of my life. I thought I was used to battle, at least, as much as you can ever be, but something like this, it just wasn't the same. Do you know what I mean?"

Sylvia nodded slightly, thinking that she might. _Yoma are yoma, putting them down is a job, a task one learns to structure a life around. Fighting humans is not the same; it seems like a monstrous act, even when the men have chosen to stand with true monsters._ The Claymore realized the true revulsion of this threat then, perhaps for the first time consciously. _It is not the danger to us that makes this all so wretched. It is that humans should choose to side with yoma. Every time it happens it blurs the lines and brings the worlds closer. It could turn all of reality into versions of us._

This last thought was so hideous that Sylvia forced herself to close her eyes and consciously recall other images, burying it beneath an avalanche of pleasant scenery, mountains, forests, ripening crops, Tyrin's face in a rare smile. The last was new, and caught her off guard. _Have I become so attached?_

"It's funny you know," Tyrin went on slowly. "I feel worse about the dead today than I have after many fights, but these fools surely deserved it so much more. Even so, even so, I just can't shake the wrongness of it all, as if I was swinging my sword at completely the wrong target."

"You're right," Sylvia replied with sudden and complete agreement. "Those people, even those yoma, were just tools being manipulated by whoever came up with this hideous plan. It is that one, and the very idea of this alliance, that must be destroyed, everything else is just more blood."

"Maybe we shouldn't have tried to save some of them for interrogation then," Tyrin mused, her mood improving by the slightest fingernail margin. "I guess that's a mistake to rectify if it happens again."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Sylvia explained. She had questioned whether to share this, but now, without all her usual careful consideration, decided to go ahead. "I was told the organization will investigate fully. This has the potential to vastly disrupt business, so it is being taken very seriously. The organization is good at finding people and things that don't want to be found," at least Sylvia's experience and hearsay made it seem so. "They'll find the answer, and we will get a chance to finish this."

"If you believe it, I suspect you're right," Tyrin nodded. "Certainly that guy seems to keep pretty good track of you in spite of all the wandering." The soldier paused briefly. "Still, it'd be nice if that were right away, or maybe another job close by. I could use a distraction; it sure helped the last time."

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid that won't be the case." Sylvia returned. "The next assignment requires a week and a half march northwest, to Treadersberg. We shall have to push hard to get there in time."

"That is pretty far," Tyrin looked up to the starry sky briefly. "Well, a hard march isn't so bad though. Fatigue can take your mind off things, though maybe you don't get that so much."

Sylvia shook her head; it would take far more than some serious marching to tire her body.

"Treadersberg seems awfully far though assuming I recall right," Tyrin mused. "None of the other assignments have taken us that kind of distance."

"This is not a regular type of assignment," Sylvia explained carefully. "And so I'm going outside my usual operational region."

"I don't like hearing about irregular assignments," Tyrin's expression soured. "What's different?"

"The task is to eradicate a nest," The claymore replied.

"A nest? What's a nest?"

"Nest is what we call a village or town where yoma have taken over," Sylvia explained grimly. The topic was not a pleasant one. "It is quite rare, since yoma do not like to work in groups under normal circumstances, but for various reasons and coincidences it occasionally happens. The yoma will slaughter and consume the residents and then stay and pretend to be the town so they can kill and eat anyone who wanders within reach. Nests may contain a great many yoma, including more experienced and powerful ones or those with rare abilities such as the winged type we saw some time ago. Cleaning them out is extremely expensive, it usually takes a group of merchants some time to gather the money to pay for such a removal."

"Damn," Tyrin gave Sylvia a hard look. "And you're assigned this all by yourself? That's new, today's three yoma was the most of them yet, usually there's only one."

"Not by myself, I would not be sent alone," Sylvia questioned if any of them would be, even the most elite usually took at least one other, to prevent possible freak accidents. "This is a task for a team, probably of four."

"A team is it?" there was a highly curious expression of the soldier's face. "That'll be something to see I imagine." She trailed off then, looking back to the fire briefly. "A hard march starts tomorrow then? I had best try to find some sleep while I can."

"Indeed," Sylvia replied softly. She felt a brief twinge of guilt of not explaining to Tyrin here and now that she would need to stay behind in Treadersberg for the next assignment, but it would perhaps be better, if less honest, to explain it when they reached their destination.

After the fire was banked and they lay together in darkness Sylvia did not reach sleep for some time. Looking up at the clear sky above her, she thought back on the events of the day. Dark scars rode with some of them, hideous images and feelings best ignored, sped onto to forgetfulness, but there was at least one bright spot. _Three yoma._ It was a good number. They had been surprised to be sure, and had not displayed any of the more potent abilities some yoma possessed, but it was still three, defeated with quickness and ease even when wielding Tyrin's smaller weapons. _Have my skills increased somewhat?_ Sylvia was uncertain, but she knew that if nothing else she had learned to use the single-edged sword and shield with a modicum of ability. It was a point of some pride, learning something like that, and a new thing. _I have been static for a very long time_, she acknowledged to the stars. _That was fine, there was nothing wrong with that, but perhaps this can be good too._

Notes: and the plotline advances and takes shape, yay! Or at least, I hope so. And lo, there is the promise of new Claymores in the next chapter. Hopefully this triggers at least a little salivating. Discussion about the 'nests' of yoma is based largely on the town where Noel, Sophia, Irene, and Priscilla met before going after Teresa, a town that was apparently full of at least a few dozen yoma.


	9. Ninth Stoke: Frozen Truth

Ninth Stroke – Frozen Truth

Treadersberg was doing better these days than it had been when Sylvia had last passed this way, a few years previous. There was a great deal of hustle and bustle of people surrounding the town and its outskirts. Idly Sylvia wondered what had happened to revitalize the formerly sleepy and degraded place. Possibly she'd ask someone when coming back through the city, or perhaps Tyrin would have the answer after spending some time there.

"Darn, its bigger than I'd heard," Tyrin muttered from Sylvia's left, her voice somewhat raw, the only obvious sign of the toll the hard march had taken on tough but all-too-human flesh. "How are we going to find the meeting place? I'd really rather not walk all around the town at this point."

"I suspect the residents could quickly point the way," Sylvia responded. "But even that is not necessary. Half-human half-yoma can be sensed just as true yoma can. By the time we reach the gates I should have a good idea. We won't have to walk much."

"Thanks be for small blessings," Tyrin managed a weak smile. "Well let's finish this march then."

It was mid-afternoon. Tradition dictated that a week and a half would be up at sunset on the relevant day, so they had only a few hours to spare. _Not bad, really_, Sylvia considered. _Tyrin bore up extremely well; to keep a Claymore's hard pace is no easy thing._

Sylvia too looked forward to ending the march. It would give her a chance to shake or rinse the dust out of her still bloodstained uniform, which was becoming something of an annoyance in places. Further, she wished to meet with her teammates. It was always interesting to meet up with others and a rare enough experience when it happened. There might be some enlightening news available.

It was not hard to sense the yoki from the edge of town, and even with a little work discern two different presences. It would perhaps have been more difficult if one had not been much greater than the other, a potent yoki indeed. A single digit, Sylvia suspected. _Is that good luck or bad?_ She couldn't be certain. Nest hunts were led by a single digit about half the time, and the rest of the time someone in the low teens took care of it. _Does this mean the nest is larger, or was it just based on proximity?_ She did not know.

Sylvia led Tyrin through the streets, not wasting any time, since neither had the energy remaining to support a sightseeing urge.

The yoki emanations led to a modest inn, which was slightly unusual. "Someone has been here for a while." Sylvia noted aloud.

"What makes you say that?" Tyrin asked.

"I doubt they would have bothered to secure an inn if they didn't want to stay for at least a few days," Sylvia explained. "You've seen how much of a hassle it can be otherwise."

"Point," the soldier noted. "Well, let's not stand around in the street, we are still getting looks."

Sylvia responded by wrapping on the door. An elderly innkeeper opened it a few moments later. "My lady!" he gasped suddenly. "I thought you were…" he stopped, and his eyes filled with a harried look on the edge of panic. "Oh I'm terribly, horribly sorry, I thought you were someone else. Clearly you haven't been staying here, and they told me to expect others, but I just…"

"Please think nothing of it," Sylvia returned evenly, not wishing to make a scene or cause disruption. "I believe there are others in residence, so if you could point the way I would be grateful."

"Yes, yes, of course," the man moved about in a timid fashion uncharacteristic in an innkeeper. Sylvia suspected one of her soon-to-be teammates had something of a short temper. Well_, at least it means he won't make a big deal about the blood_. "It's the small dining room, this way," he gestured with both arms.

Sylvia nodded, and headed in, Tyrin following. The Claymore had warned the soldier that she shouldn't say much in the coming discussion. Hopefully that advice would be followed.

The innkeeper pushed open the stout door but avoided looking in beyond. Sylvia strode through without fear, but carefully alert, she wished to make the most of her first chance to examine the others. Tyrin followed, somewhat more cautiously than usual by the sound of her steps.

The first glimpse was limited, Sylvia noted only that three people waited in the room, around a fairly nice table; doubtless the room was usually used for the meetings of traders with decent funds. Two were her fellow warriors; the other was a gaunt-faced man in black with lidded eyes and an empty gaze. Sylvia ignored him for present, focusing on the other two of her own kind.

Seated at the end of the table, face to the door, was one very much like Sylvia in appearance. They shared all the common features of half-human half-yoma woman, the narrow chin, sharp eyes, small mouth, and angled nose, though the other's was perhaps slightly less pronounced than Sylvia's own. Between the two the only obvious visual difference was in their hairstyles. Where Sylvia's hair hung in loose evenly spaced strands this woman's was mostly pulled back in an upright ponytail stretching down to her shoulders. Two longer strands hung down the sides of her face, in front of the ears, framing it carefully. Her build resembled Sylvia's almost exactly, maybe a fraction less busty, but otherwise nearly a perfect match. Only one standout feature marked her different: her terribly focused and fierce eyes. Looking at those, without bothering to examine the currents of yoki in the room, it was clear that this was the single digit.

To her left sat the other, and the contrast between the pair was great. _She is beautiful_, Sylvia thought first upon seeing her second teammate to be. Unlike the pale blond hair of most of them, hers was silvery, all but drained of tone and shining with gloss, practically iridescent. It framed her face much as the others, but was worn free and not bound, flowing down to between the shoulder blades. Her face was softer than most, and held a certain warmth as well, providing greater appeal and delicacy. The flow of her body, trim as always, was possessed of greater curves than either of the others, and if she had been a human woman Sylvia would have perhaps been jealous. Beyond this allure was something else, a sense of youth. Though they would never show signs of age, half-human half-yoma did mature, and to her eyes this one was not completely there. _She may still be in her late teens_, Sylvia suspected.

This youthful warrior was the first to speak. "What happened to your clothes? And who's the lady?" she asked in a smooth and light voice, one to match her appearance.

"Save the questions," the single digit admonished, her voice not severe, but terse, conveying a strong impression that she did not waste words or talk excessively. "We are still one short."

This shut the other's mouth immediately.

Sylvia nodded by way of greeting to the others, and to the man in black as well, and then took a seat. Neither of these three was known to her, a fact not really surprising, especially considering the one's youth. _A good opportunity to get to know new associates then_, Sylvia decided, as much as she might have wished to reminisce with those few others she knew well.

The silence that stretched on was uncomfortable, five people seated together with questions hanging unspoken and unanswered. Tyrin, not patient like a Claymore or their impassive handlers, took to polishing her helmet on the table as a means to while away the time. At some point, without ever intending it as far as Sylvia was aware, all three ended up watching the soldier at her work. When she noticed this she stared back at them all, pettily, as if they were being hideously rude. Sylvia turned to watching the sun fall slowly out the slender window of the dining room.

With less than an hour left before sunset the last of the four arrived.

Sylvia recognized her the moment she walked in the door. Split bangs and a headband to hold high her hair in a wide flaring bun behind her skull, accompanied by a fierce, arrogant method of motion and condescending smile all marked her out. She nodded to her in recognition, and caught it in the silver eyes. Their meeting two years before had not been forgotten.

"Well, everyone's here, and thankfully on time," the man in black pronounced, his voice grubby and disinterested. "The rest of it's yours." He gestured passively to the single digit and then rose to leave.

Passing Sylvia he turned and took a bundle from his robes. "Replacement," was all he indicated. "Don't wear it until the task is done, there won't be another."

"Of course," Sylvia bowed her head. "I understand." It was a shame though; she had no desire to endure the bloodstains any longer.

The single digit's eyes followed the man in black out of the room, but did nothing more than mark his exit. When the door closed she spoke. "So, we are assembled," her words were even, purely functional, it reminded Sylvia of the tone Tyrin took when lecturing about technical points of swordplay. "The mission is simple, eradication of a nest to the northwest of here. I need names, numbers, and your number of nest missions." She offered her own first. "I'm Jessica, number eight. This is my seventh nest hunt."

"I'm Racquel," the youthful Claymore spoke up first. "I'm number twenty-six, and this will be my first time cleansing a nest." This last confirmed to Sylvia that she was indeed a youth, inevitably all Claymores served nest missions, and mid-twenties tended to serve numerous ones. That she had not meant she had not been active for long.

By rights Sylvia should have spoken next, as the third to arrive, but she was preempted, something she had duly anticipated, knowing this one. "It's Lynne," she had a forceful, amused voice to match her expression. "Number thirty-two and this will be my second nest mission."

Three pairs of eyes turned to Sylvia as the one to speak last. "My name is Sylvia," she told the others. "I am number thirty-eight, and this marks my fifth time cleansing a nest."

"Five?" Jessica spoke unexpectedly, and looked directly at Sylvia, measuring the truth there. "Voracious eaters?" it was a highly direct question, and Sylvia made a note of the other's wits, though she found the lack of elaboration somewhat curt.

"Twice," she answered, eliciting a sharp turn of the head from the young Racquel and a steady examination from Jessica. Lynne, having already known about this, and clearly not much caring anyway, ignored them. "Not powerful ones," she made certain to note, for there was no reason to attempt to overstate her abilities. "It was simply a matter of circumstances."

"Was it?" Jessica wondered aloud. "How many years then?"

"Almost ten," Sylvia answered, understanding the unspoken portions of the question easily. She kept her eyes on the single digit, interested in her reaction.

The other Claymore's control over her own expression was very good, and Sylvia gleaned little from attempting to read it. "Six and a half," she spoke, obviously referring to herself. Sylvia had a strong sense that Jessica was not one for talking much. "You two?"

"Five, give or take a month," Lynne replied jauntily.

"Well, I'll have the first year finished very soon," Racquel spoke somewhat humbly, obviously feeling somewhat awkward at her comparative youth, perhaps exacerbated by her ranking. For herself, Sylvia was used to being outranked by younger fellows, but it might be hard for a new Claymore to fit herself to her ranking in the face of more experienced warriors, especially if, as Sylvia suspected, this was her first team mission.

"Do you know what the average is?" Jessica queried, catching Sylvia off guard with the surprisingly intellectual question. _Perhaps she is more insightful than her speech indicates_, she considered.

"I have asked," Sylvia began. "But the organization claims they do not bother keeping track of such things," That fact Sylvia did not believe in the slightest, it was merely a polite euphemism for 'we're not going to tell you.' "By my best guess, based on those I have met, would be between seven and nine, but I would caution that it is very random and erratic."

Jessica nodded slightly, revealing nothing, but Sylvia noted Lynne's eyes were filled with defiance, while Racquel appeared quite somber, as might be expected.

"So, who's the human?" Lynne asked, forcibly changing the subject.

Watching Tyrin, Sylvia could recognize the woman bristling at being referred to as simply 'human.'

"Tyrin," she growled back at Lynne, gray eyes not budging before sharp silver. "I'm a soldier."

"Why is she with you?" Jessica interjected, directing her question straight at Sylvia.

"We are traveling together," Sylvia answered carefully. "I owe her a great debt." She did not want to explain the full circumstances to the others now, it would be rather embarrassing.

"That is your choice," Jessica acknowledged, and then turned to Tyrin. "But you will not come with us during this mission."

"What gives you the say so!" Tyrin shot back.

"Tyrin, please," Sylvia admonished carefully. "She has the command of the rest of us, and it is her mission. Besides as much as I acknowledge your skills, a town filled with yoma is no place for any human to tread. There is a good deal of risk in this mission for us, never mind you."

"You're an officer?" Tyrin asked Jessica.

"Effectively," the single-digit replied.

"Then sorry," Tyrin appeared surprisingly contrite. "I didn't think you all had a chain of command or anything."

Lynne laughed briefly, darkly amused, but did not say anything. Tyrin avoided looking at the impetuous Claymore.

"Enough," Jessica silenced everyone. "We will leave at dawn, there are rooms reserved for all of you, though I suppose you two will have to share."

Lynne looked as if she wanted to add some other cutting remark, but Sylvia preempted her. "That is no problem."

"Then that's all," the single-digit rose from her chair, already heading for the door. The others began to mirror her.

Sylvia would have followed, but she had conceived of something that might be meaningful, and it was best to ask now, while Tyrin was present, as the human warrior might never actually see them again. "Racquel, a question, do you happen to know a warrior named Celeca? She would be a trainee, around ten years old now."

Tyrin's eyes widened and she pinned the young Claymore with a withering stare the other was lucky to not be paying much attention toward. "Celeca?" Racquel mused, and spent a moment in obvious recollection. "Oh, I do remember, she was next on the list to undergo the transformation when I was called up, pretty energetic. I didn't know her much, but I seem to recall there was something about her…" Racquel paused, and then shook her head as she figured it out from her memory. "That's right, there was this rumor that she claimed to have a sister, but the men in black ordered her not to talk about it."

"Is that true?" the longing in Tyrin's voice was heartbreaking to here.

Racquel turned her head at the sudden comment, and then her eyes went wide. Sylvia upped her estimation of the young Claymore's wits.

"It can't be…" Racquel muttered, shaking her head. "I mean, that kind of mistake shouldn't happen, but you look so like her."

Jessica and Lynne, both already at the door, stopped in a moment of pure synchronicity.

"Explain," the single-digit told the soldier, her voice filled with sudden impatience.

Tyrin's countenance took on some reluctance, which Sylvia understood, for it was a highly personal thing to demand, especially when the other three clearly did not look on Tyrin very kindly, but more as a piece of baggage.

The woman took a deep breath, and then spoke. "Two years ago my parents died in a fire, or so I am told, I was not present and the house was torn down by the time I returned home. My sister, she would have been seven years old then, supposedly survived and was taken by your organization, because there had been a yoma killed in the neighboring town the day before. I know only what the other villagers told me when I returned home last year. I have not seen her since she was five years old."

"Seven?" Lynne questioned. "Awfully far apart aren't you?"

"Fourteen years separate us," Tyrin said somberly. "My mother, she, well, she suffered many miscarriages. Celeca is my only sibling."

"A tragedy," Jessica spoke bluntly. "Everything about half-human half-yoma is." With that comment, sad, but jaded in its sympathies, the single-digit walked out of the dining room.

"It's not fair that your life gets to be more interesting than mine, you know, Sylvia," Lynne commented sardonically as she left as well.

Racquel was somewhat more genuine. "Your sister was well when I last saw her, I'm sure you'll get the chance to see her again." Then the young warrior was gone as well, leaving the two alone again.

"Are you sorry I brought it up in front of them all?" Sylvia asked. "I could have broached it more privately, but I wanted the others to hear. If that was the wrong choice, I apologize."

"No, it's alright," Tyrin was slightly misty-eyed. "I would rather hear it directly, there are no doubts anymore. My sister lives, it is a great thing to know. I was always so doubtful, there were so few clues, but now I am as sure as I can be without seeing her face to face. It is a very happy day." She spoke through her tears now, and Sylvia did not know what to say.

They sat silent for a while, as they had learned to do when they reached a point that neither properly understood in the other, and then Tyrin mastered herself once more. "Your comrades look a lot like you," she noted. "But they seem very different."

"Yes," Sylvia shrugged. "Well, we each must find our own way of dealing with what we have become. No one is quite the same. Besides, we are each individual woman, shouldn't we be different?"

"I guess," Tyrin smiled a little. "Maybe I just thought of you all as 'Claymores' and thought you were all the same, like swords made by the same smith."

It was an interesting analogy, though Sylvia did not like being thought of as merely a sword, though she imagined that was how Luny and the other men in black thought of them. "We share certain things in common," she admitted. "But each of us lives our own lives, has different skills and experiences, and so forth. Since we spend so much time alone our differences stand out."

"That makes sense," the warrior acknowledged. "So that one Jessica is your leader for this mission right?" the Claymore nodded in reply. "What was that she asked you for, your numbers?"

"It is a system of ranking," the Claymore told the soldier, and at her quizzical look decided to explain further. "I told you how we are divided one each across the forty-seven regions of the continent, one to each, so that there are forty-seven of us at any given time."

"Yeah, I remember."

"The numbers are our relative strengths compared to each other," Sylvia explained. "From number one, the strongest, to number forty-seven, the weakest."

"You mean who's the best, who's second best, who's third best and on down the line?" the soldier appeared more surprised than the Claymore had expected. "How do you figure that out? You all fight duels or something?"

"No," a fact for which Sylvia was rather grateful, some of her comrades were awfully aggressive, she wouldn't want to fight them even in practice. "The organization assigns us our numbers, and changes them if warranted, based on their assessment of our abilities and yoki."

"You said you were thirty-eight right?" Tyrin recalled. "Doesn't that put you rather near the bottom?"

"Yes," there was no shame in the Claymore; she had long since accepted the limits of her abilities.

"The others were thirty-two, twenty-six, and eight, how does that compare?"

"It is somewhat difficult to say," Sylvia began. "The numbers are not exactly absolute, and the differences in ability from one number to the next are usually rather small. Between me and Lynne the difference is not very large at all."

"How do you mean?" the human warrior seemed genuinely curious, as if examining some strange new puzzle.

Sylvia felt no reason no to answer, and in fact, it allowed her to give voice to some thoughts she had not yet voiced among her comrades. "I would look at it as if there were tiers of ability, like levels on a terraced field. The difference within a tier is small, but fairly large between them. Lynne and I are in the same tier, numbers thirty-one to thirty-nine, and though she is likely to beat me if we fought, perhaps two or three times in ten I could gain a draw or a victory. Forty through forty-seven would be the lowest tier, while thirty through twenty-three, where Racquel is, would be the one above. Beyond that is twenty-two to fifteen, then fourteen to ten, nine to six, and finally the top five, who are significantly stronger than any below them."

"Nice system," Tyrin commented slyly. "But you all really are incredible, if, no offense or anything your skills represent the low end, it's hard to even imagine what that Jessica must be able to do."

"Yes, the single digits, as we tend to call them, are very impressive," Sylvia recalled her two fights against Awakened Beings; it had truly left her in awe.

"Why'd she seemed so surprised about your age though?" Tyrin questioned. "I mean, since you don't age and all maybe it'd be hard to tell, but twenty-seven," she mentioned Sylvia's actual age, something the Claymore was a bit surprised the other woman had remembered. "Isn't that much older than how you look, and there's not much difference between six years and ten."

"There is perhaps more difference than you would think," Sylvia replied.

"Doesn't seem like it, I've been a soldier almost ten years myself, since I started young, and there's plenty more years to go," she sighed wistfully. "If I'm lucky I'll be out of the marching business and into the instruction business by the time I'm forty."

"Forty?" Sylvia turned the word over in her mind slowly, and without really thinking about it spoke up. "I should like to see such an age, but it seems unlikely."

"You think some yoma's going to kill you?" Tyrin wondered, her voice carrying a tint of disappointment. "That's no way to go into a fight, expecting the enemy to win."

"No, I doubt it will be a yoma, few of us die that way," Sylvia's voice went somber. "A Voracious Eater perhaps, they account for almost all the battle deaths. Would dying in battle be better? I wonder…"

"How else can you die? You don't age."

Sylvia would forever wonder what lay on her face in that moment, and regret that she had not held her melancholy back fully. She faced Tyrin, and then saw the human woman's expression drop away, all hope draining away to some bottomless pit of despair.

"Seven to nine, you said seven to nine, the average," she burbled, tears forming rapidly and clouding those gray eyes with storms of sorrow. "I didn't get it, I didn't put together the pieces, but, but you really meant that, seven to nine years, that's how long you last isn't it? That is it isn't it?"

Sylvia, unable to face that despair, started to turn away.

"Tell me Sylvia!" Tyrin's ragged demand seared to the bone and pulled her head back around. "Don't you dare hide the truth from me!"

"The truth?" It was hard to recognize. _What is the truth?_ She wondered. _There are so many things we do not know, even about ourselves_. Yet she would obey the woman's command, she owed a life, and truth was part of that, no matter that she felt dammed to tell it, had hidden it for all their travels. _Am I your friend if I speak now? Is this what it costs, friendship?_ "Then, I will say it plainly, as best I can determine, which may not be fully accurate, we usually only manage to survive for seven to nine years."

"Why?" Tyrin demanded, despondent, tears flowing freely, the strong face she usually maintained ripped apart. "Why do you die so rapidly? Why can I look forward to outliving a sister so many years younger than me? Why damn you?"

Sylvia took a deep breath, composing herself; she took refuge in her words now, in the distance they could provide. "I cannot say exactly why," she began, cautious. "And there are no guarantees, the average is seven to nine, but that is not when the majority will die. Some last only months, while others many more years, but I would be lying if I said there was a good chance to live even fifteen years. It is not the battles," she forestalled that question, knowing the soldier was surely thinking it. "It is because we are half-human half-yoma. I told you before that the yoma side is something we constantly struggle with, do you remember?"

"You said that the human mind was used to control it," Tyrin swallowed.

"Yes, but what I did not say then is that such control does not last forever," Sylvia's voice turned sour, she did not like thinking on this herself, it was so hopeless. "Eventually, and some say the more we use our yoki energy, though I am dubious as to that, the human strength can no longer contain the yoma within. So we die."

"You kill yourself?" it was bewildered, wretched.

"I have heard of it, but normally no," Sylvia reached back, undoing the pommel of her sword hilt, and pulled out the small vellum piece stored there. "We ask another to wield the sword, and we send them this card when it is to be done."

"That's horrible," Tyrin muttered. "Have you ever done it?" she demanded.

"Once," she didn't want to think about that memory, it was so sad. "Last year, it was one of the other teammates I worked with alongside Lynne two years ago. No one wishes to be chosen, but who could refuse such a request?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tyrin shook her head up and down, nodding. "Everything about half-human half-yoma is a tragedy, that Jessica was right."

"I cannot say otherwise," Much as she might wish to, desperately wish to, Sylvia could not refute the single digit's words. _Such is our lot_; she made herself acknowledge it once again. _It is necessary; it is the way the world is. Deal with reality as it is, not as you wish it to be, Sylvia._

"To die so young, Celeca, I'm so sorry, I should have been there. I should have come to get you!"

"You mustn't blame yourself Tyrin," it began as a platitude, but Sylvia found out she meant it. "And besides, you still live, and may find her, and brighten her life, give her something to live for, something the rest of us lack. If it had not been your sister it would be some other poor child, the organization has never had trouble filling its ranks. That is our world."

"Damn it," Tyrin hissed. "Damn it all! You're right, gods damn it all you're right! Why must it be this way?"

No answer was asked, and Sylvia was glad to see Tyrin's anger reemerge, that the firm solidity of her should return. _Yet, I must not stop here_, she knew, and hoped the other woman would endure it. The truth was a horrendous thing, cold as ice, and just as unforgiving. "There is one other thing," she started. "To die young is a mercy, compared to the alternative."

"Alternative?" there was deep resentment in the other woman now, and suspicion brought out by sorrow.

"By rights I should not tell you, and you must not tell anyone else, but I think you deserve the truth, it is your family," Sylvia did not recall her own family, only the cold and snow, before the organization took her, but seeing what Tyrin clearly felt for a sister she had not seen in years, watching countless human families in mourning over one lost to a yoma, she recognized the right those bound together by those bonds held.

The soldier woman nodded, and Sylvia had no doubts as to her silence. "We send our black cards to accept our deaths," she explained. "But it does not always work out that way. Sometimes the fear of death is too great and the card is not sent, or the other does not arrive in time, or most commonly, even as it is still rare, we unleash too much yoki all at once, in battle, and cannot reassert control."

"Your yoma half takes over?" Tyrin guessed. Her face twisted in hideous imagination.

"That might be one way of looking at it," Sylvia acknowledged. "I do not know what really happens, no one does who has not gone through it. We call it Awakening, but it is not as simple as turning into a yoma. Instead we become something else, a greater and more terrible kind of monster, one far more powerful than any yoma. The organization has us call such persons voracious eaters, and claims they are simply very old yoma who have gained great power over time. That may even occasionally be true," Sylvia suspected the different terms had some basis in fact. "Likely long ago, before half-human half-yoma had come into being, many yoma did accumulate great power, there are certainly differences among them even now. Now though, the Voracious Eaters are almost all former comrades, the creatures known as Awakened Beings."

"Awakened Beings…" Tyrin breathed. "What happens to them?"

"If they make trouble, we hunt them down just like other yoma," Sylvia explained. "But it is much more dangerous, almost all of those who die in battle die fighting awakened beings, nests occasionally, and solitary yoma almost never."

"To think that you could just lose control and turn into a monster," Tyrin looked straight at Sylvia, her gray eyes deep as cloud, and probing. "I can't see it, not in you."

"I'm glad," Sylvia's heart soared with this affirmation, and she felt like actually smiling for the first time in many years, though she controlled herself and dared not. "I have no plans to become an Awakened Being." Briefly she paused, and looked at the other woman, who now seemed at least decently composed. "For now though, I think that is enough dark talk. You're exhausted; I can tell, let's get some food from the innkeeper and then get some rest."

It was a long and fitful night, and Sylvia slept little, wondering what Tyrin would think of her in the morning, having digested all her words just as she voraciously consumed her dinner_. Will she hate me? Or call me a monster?_ Sylvia could not know. _For a moment she appeared to accept me, even after hearing the truth. Was that real, or my foolish imagination? Such a fate she has been dealt, I have no right to desire her kindness. _She might have no right, but sitting in the dark she did so all the more desperately. Daring against truth and against fate, she hoped with all of her that the human soldier would not count the truth a betrayal, but would still want to travel with her.

In the morning Sylvia assembled with the others outside at dawn, and Tyrin came down to see them go, despite clearly bearing the signs of tiredness. "How long will you be?" she asked them.

"We'll attack them tomorrow morning, and we should be back by evening," Sylvia told her, repeating what Jessica had explained moments before.

"Then I guess I've got two days rest," the human warrior smiled, directing it at them all. "When you get back I'll pay for the beer."

Sylvia felt her spirits lift at that smile, for even if she could not see full acceptance there, Tyrin did not hate her, had not held it against her. She nodded.

"Since we may not meet after this mission, Racquel spoke suddenly from Sylvia's left. "I wish you and your sister all the best, truly."

"Yeah," Lynne muttered, not looking the human woman. "Good luck."

Jessica raised her hand to the hilt of her sword, and bowed her head ever so slightly. "A soldier endures," she said to Tyrin. "Not let's go!" she ordered the rest.

It had not been planned, Sylvia could tell that much, but it gladdened her, and she saw from Tyrin's expression that the human warrior understood the depth of sentiment behind those few phrases.

Then she turned and followed Jessica's swift march toward the yoma's den.

Notes: There's a lot in this chapter, including a few assumptions. Sylvia's estimate of Claymore ages is based on the suggestion found in a few places in the manga that Claymores are regularly recycled through by the organization, and such statements about how someone like Galatea has 'lived too long.' The slight differences in Racquel's appearance are similar to Priscilla's relative youth compared to the others in the Teresa flashback, how most Claymore's appear to mature until they look roughly twenty-something, while she appeared in her late teens.

For ease of reference the Claymores and their numbers are:

#8 Jessica

#26 Racquel

#32 Lynne

#38 Sylvia


	10. Tenth Stroke: Cloudy Conversation

Tenth Stroke – Cloudy Conversation

Jessica, Sylvia quickly discovered, believed in walking _fast_. While it would be the rare Claymore who did not possess a stride that chewed up terrain efficiently and swiftly, the sharp eyed single digit was in a different league. She walked with a preternatural catlike grace, gliding over the ground with level speed, her legs moving without any visible impact on the rest of her body, which remained forcefully alert. _She's pretty good at this_, Sylvia admitted to herself as she struggled to keep up, thankfully not alone in the endeavor. Lynne surged on next to the single digit, matching her stride for stride, but with a grim look on her face that proved it was putting a great deal of strain on her muscles.

Sylvia kept wondering when Lynne would break into either a run or an angry shouting match, but the flair-haired woman managed to grit her teeth and persevere.

Racquel, by contrast, didn't bother with any such show of pride, but was content to continually fall back slightly and then break into a jog to catch up with the others. She occasionally appeared a little embarrassed about this, but it never seemed to upset the young warrior, something Sylvia considered surprising.

For her own part Sylvia managed to keep the pace more or less, earning back steps in moments when the terrain allowed long, loping strides to build momentum, especially downhill stretches, and then slowly losing them again on flat ground. Her muscles hurt too, but the long march she and Tyrin had made proved to be good conditioning, especially as she had been forced to moderate her pace in the later days, thereby conditioning her legs with extra hours on the road.

They stopped for the evening surprisingly early as a result, at a hillside campsite that had not been used in some time. Such a thing was to be expected, given the nearby nest of yoma. Merchants had obviously been avoiding this region. Sylvia wondered how long it had been since the town had perished. _Weeks? Months?_ There was no easy way to tell. _Hopefully not too long, it is a shame to leave these pustules to fester on the landscape. _

"The nest is an hour north," Jessica announced. "We'll hit it in the morning."

"What's the plan then?" Racquel asked her expression seemingly curious to Sylvia's eye, not concerned. _But then, she is the second highest among us_, the older Claymore reminded herself.

"From the east, sun at our backs," Jessica spoke sparingly as before. "I'll lead the attack; the rest of you will cover the flanks."

It was a simple plan, almost basic in design, but Sylvia had no thought for this reducing its effectiveness. Jessica, by far the most skilled among them, would handle the bulk of the killing; it would simply be her task to guard the single-digit's back, preventing encirclement. Easy enough, Sylvia thought, almost like butchering cattle. Silently she frowned; the image was not a pleasant one to digest.

"Sylvia, what exactly are you doing?" Racquel's voice was pleasant, but the query was not precisely humorous.

Sylvia looked back to find the other three Claymores all watching her. Puzzled she looked about, only belatedly realizing what was happening when she glanced down, and caught the pile of tinder in her arms. "I'm sorry," she managed, both embarrassed and astonished. "It seems I've picked up a habit without realizing it.

"Firewood?" it was really quite amazing how Jessica managed to ask complete questions with only a single word. Sylvia didn't exactly appreciate it, such a thing made it seem as if all the warriors were silver-eyed copies of each other.

She answered nevertheless. "Yes, a consequence of traveling with a human is the need for a fire to cook dinner most nights. Tyrin is a better fire-builder than I, so the task of gathering wood falls to me."

"Why bother helping out that human?" Lynne asked.

Sylvia met the rough-edged warrior's glare with her own. "It would be rude to just sit and watch one's companion work, don't you think?" she asked in a perfectly level voice.

Lynne merely shrugged, admitting nothing.

"You said you owed that woman a great debt," Racquel broached the topic with some care. "What did you mean? What kind of debt?"

"You're full of puzzles this time Sylvia," Lynne rasped out a bitter laugh. "Not just that woman, but your uniform too. How'd it get like that? That's not yoma blood, so have you been slaughtering cattle?"

"The blood is human," Sylvia spoke with resignation, she had not thought of a good way to explain it all yet.

Racquel gasped, while Jessica said nothing but focused her gaze perhaps a fraction more sharply. Lynne merely laughed, without the bitterness this time.

"Why is that so funny?" Racquel's words spilled from her abruptly. "If she's violated the rules, then…"

"That's the funny part," Lynne muttered, smiling with a tiny edge of cruelty. "It's obviously not that, whatever the reason, or Jessica's black friend would have ordered us to kill her. The look on your face was pretty good though."

"I doubt the rest will be so amusing," Jessica interjected. "Explain," she told Sylvia.

"It began on the day I met Tyrin," Sylvia began, resolved that she would start with the initial moment, and explain from there. It was perhaps not the swiftest course, and it was rather personal, but she must be honest, especially among her own kind. Even if some of them grated on her, as Lynne did, they needed to know this.

She kept to the facts of the explanation, covering the two incidents in detail, and answering such questions as were offered, mostly by Racquel, as Lynne seemed to find the entire idea too disgusting to contemplate, and Jessica said little as always.

In the end it was Lynne who summed it all up. "Just weak, these humans," she hissed. "Weak. We give everything up, everything! And they have the gall to side with yoma? Don't they have any pride?"

"Maybe they just don't see a difference," Racquel spoke sadly, her voice bleeding sorrow with every breath. "I was told that humans would fear us while in training, but the organization can't describe how they really look at you, the fear in those eyes, they way they group us with the yoma, not with them. You three may be used to it, but I must say, for humans who've paid us money, why would they care if it was yoma or half-human half-yoma, so long as they were promised security?"

"You may have a point," Sylvia admitted, considering Racquel's words. "The organization offers safety from yoma, but the prices we charge are ruinous. I have seen what happens, sometimes," she could recall these memories, and they were among the most unpleasant she carried, filled with an unnamed, incomprehensible emptiness, devoid of hope or future. "Pass through a town once, slay two yoma, and the payment is made. Come back two years later, and the town is all but gone, crumbled to nothing, with starving children and old people." She could still see the recrimination in those faces, the hatred that had come at her. "They threw rocks at me once, another time some farmer tried to stab me with a pitchfork. Those people I can see hating us. Men from such a town, turned bandit, might well listen to the promises of yoma, hoping for a fortune and to get some kind of revenge."

"Don't treat the humans so nice Sylvia," Lynne returned. "Maybe the organization asks a lot, maybe too much, but that's the world, yoma exist, there's nothing to be done otherwise. Siding with yoma's still weak. I think I'd rather starve to death myself."

"Ultimately, it matters not," Jessica intruded into the conversation once more. "We serve the organization; it is not our place to consider the wider plan. Sylvia has explained a danger, and for us is only to watch, until we can destroy it."

A heartless thing to say, that, but Sylvia could not refute the single digit's words. They were hunters of yoma, nothing more and nothing less. The choices of the organization were not to be questioned, for what right did a half-human half-yoma to question. Even if she couldn't trust the men in black, she had to follow, and for herself she had to believe it was ultimately better that way. _If we did not exist_, Sylvia asked herself as she often did in moments of doubt. _What would become of the world? Would yoma herd men as men heard cattle, or would men live in caves on the run, and every city become a ruined charnel house?_ She could not know, but even with the world as it was, without them it would surely be worse.

"Sylvia," Lynne said abruptly. "You said that woman wore your uniform and you fought with her sword. Does that mean she's been teaching you?"

"Yes," Sylvia refused to be embarrassed by that statement. "We should not be above learning from humans."

"Like I care," Lynne giggled, tilting her head quirkily. "I just want to know if you think that's made you any better."

"I believe so," Sylvia answered, suspecting what the rough-edged Claymore was getting at, and hardly opposed to the idea. "I have learned of weaknesses in my technique, and begun to correct for them."

"Hehe," Lynne giggled further, her face seeming animated fully for the first time. "There's a little light left, shall we find out?"

"With your approval," Sylvia inclined her head to Jessica.

The single digit gave a brief wave of acceptance.

"Then dodge!" Lynne went from sitting to airborne in a single rapid motion, flipping forward through the air and bringing her blade out and before her in a smooth rippling wheel.

Sylvia sidestepped easily, expecting some sort of immediate acrobatic attack from the energetic warrior. Her own sword was in hand swiftly, but she did not yet move to counter.

Lynne came on, smashing stroke after stroke with forceful abandon, smiling and giggling as she attacked, happier than she'd likely been in days. It was a common enough trait among Claymores, to feel most alive and invigorated during battle, to let the rush of blood and yoki surge through the body, increasing sensation and movement, burning with the thrill of power, no matter how putrid. Dangerous such feelings were, and Sylvia had always scrupulously schooled herself to avoid all acceptance of her yoki in her emotions, but Lynne was different. Her blond hair in that flared crest, like some birds might possess, she simply enjoyed movement and form, even with her yoki suppressed to spar.

For a time Sylvia simply met the rush of blows, holding her balance and position, but unable to force Lynne to give up the initiative, the strokes were too fast and powerful.

Then the vivacious Claymore pressed forward, locking blade to blade in a straight block close in, seeking to simply press her strength and force Sylvia to concede or bolt back, vulnerable.

_There!_ Feet moved in a fashion foreign to most Claymores as Sylvia sidestepped and twisted, moving her blade down and along Lynne's own, turning the blade's force to a place she no longer occupied and driving in to her opponent with an armored shoulder.

"What?" Lynne jerked back, barely avoiding the blow without stumbling, only her greater strength allowing her to counter the attack sent to slice away her legs.

The two broke off, and contrary to what Sylvia might have expected, beneath the silver-eyed focus there was only a wider smile than before. _There is something to be said for loving your work it seems_, she thought wryly, and moved to attack.

Several times they traded passes, Lynne often gaining the upper hand only to see Sylvia slip away when the blade moved close, stymied time after time by little blocks and deflections inside. In return Sylvia's counters teased at little spaces in the guard, but could not break through, there was never enough time.

_If I had Tyrin's sword I think I could win_, the thought blossomed at some unknown point in the bout, surprising her and breaking through her normal mask to show on her face, or so Lynne's quizzical look indicated. _If only I knew a way to use her techniques fully with this blade_, Sylvia lamented. _The openings are there, but this blade is too large to exploit them._

Lynne was not a person known for her patience and at length she grew exasperated with these slender exchanges. Facing her foe she stood back, breathed deeply, and seized her blade with both hands, raising it upright. Not angled, she poised the blade flat forward broadside parallel to the ground, point directed at Sylvia's breast. "Let's see you knock this aside!"

_She's going to bet it all on the charge!_ Sylvia observed, and instantly recognized that it could well work. Lynne was stronger than she, and slightly faster as well. By putting all her strength in one blow she could hold it to target and negate the tricks of leverage that had been used to exploit her moves before. She had the barest of moments to think of a counter.

Lynne charged, and Sylvia held her ground, but moved her blade to her right, away from the oncoming mass of steel.

The charge came on, and silver eyes stared at the pint, measuring, gauging the moment, the timing would have to be perfect.

Lynne, smiling all the way, burned on, lighting quick.

_Now!_

Sylvia bent her knees and jerked her hips, moving down and left, then coming up again, just enough to slide her shoulder pauldron under the edge of the sword, and then press up, knocking it off course. I the same moment she clenched the muscles in her right arm, snapping her blade in at Lynne's exposed chest.

She stopped the blow just before it would cut into the white uniform.

"I believe I've got you," Sylvia met Lynne's eyes, and directed them down.

The other Claymore bent her head, and observed the blade resting there. "Aw," her voice was disappointed, but the smile never faded. "Draws are boring."

"A draw?" Sylvia questioned.

Lynne jerked her head.

Turning her neck Sylvia saw the sword edge resting there, poised to slice her head clean off. Lynne had readjusted by pushing forward and sliding her grip down the handle, turning stab to slash in an eyeblink.

"You are better though," Lynne admitted. "But it's a damnable thing, all those little twist-steps."

"It looked like you kept going after the same thing," Racquel commented from beyond the circle of engagement. "What were you trying to do?"

"Tyrin showed me weaknesses in my guard," Sylvia explained. "We are trained to fight at a certain distance, because of the size of our weapons and the length of yoma arms. If you can get inside the guard there are vulnerabilities."

"It seems so," Jessica added. "But your movement was incomplete." It was a piercingly accurate critique for observing one short fight. Sylvia felt she must answer.

"I hadn't trained to adapt short blade methods to our swords yet," she explained. "I can tell now that is going to take a great deal of practice."

"Hopefully you will get that time," Jessica said flatly. "Build your fire, if you wish, it is still early enough."

Uncertain what to make of the single digit's permission, Sylvia nevertheless gathered wood and started a small fire, though it took her several tries to get things going, whereas Tyrin could light a fire in seconds with but a single attempt. She did not build the blaze high, only a little crackling glow, enough to provide light. Heat was unnecessary.

The others sat about, mostly, doing idle things in companionable silence. Such was they way a Claymore filled the hours, patient against boredom. Sylvia stared into the flames, watching the wood slowly burn away, embers glowing with fierce resolve before turning slowly to ash, inevitably.

Unexpectedly Lynne sat down beside her. Sylvia tensed briefly, but the other warrior's usually aggressive posture was relaxed and easy. "Two years, right?" she mused.

"More or less," Sylvia recalled it well enough, that long tracking mission, the most lasting assignment she'd ever served with a group.

"Well," Lynne's gaze seemed to drift past Sylvia into the darkness. "I was actually happy to see you, would you believe it?"

Sylvia did not immediately answer her comrade.

"Yeah, yeah," Lynne laughed slightly. "I know we aren't friends, you don't like me much and I think you're a stuck up little lady, but even so." Her expression lost its ready joviality for a moment. "It's good to know someone keeps on going, you know?"

"I think I understand," staring into the black abyss within oneself was no easy task. Having the knowledge that another had managed it at long as you, and to even chance to meet that person, could be a great help. It had been so for Sylvia as well.

"Time's have changed though," Lynne considered. "At least for you, you seem a bit different to me, and its not just the swordsmanship."

_A bit different?_ Sylvia wondered. _Perhaps._ "I believe you mean that traveling with Tyrin has had an influence on me. Do you mean to say that I should not have done that?"

"Well, your diction hasn't changed any," the forthright warrior laughed. "I swear you must have been some noble's kid." She paused, tilting her head. "But then, you said you don't remember."

Sylvia noticed here that this conversation was not merely between the two of them. Racquel was watching openly, hanging on their words. Jessica, though more circumspect, doubtless heard everything as well. The crackling fire was insufficient to obscure conversation.

"I can recall only the cold, crawling upon the ice, nothing before that," Sylvia told them all, as she had told Lynne once before, when the other warrior had probed into her past two yeas ago. Most of their kind would never do such a thing, but having nothing herself to hide, it seemed Lynne followed her curiosity with few worries. "I was only four years old, or so it was guessed."

"So young…" Racquel whispered, probably without realizing it, for the youthful warrior did not appear to expect a response.

That was something well known to the older Claymore. Most orphans claimed by the organization were at least five, strong enough to walk to the headquarters in the east. She had been carried. "The organization is all I know," she said, and then lapsed into silence, carrying the bitter thought deep within. _How little that is_, Sylvia knew with regret. _They tell us only as little as they can, never claiming anything but that_. For the first time now, recalling this dour truth, she wondered if part of her attachment to Tyrin was in some misguided effort to experience a world beyond that which the men in black had drawn about her. _Even if that's true, does it change anything?_ Simple answers to such a question did not materialize readily.

"A hard life, they all are," Jessica commented. "And a hard morrow awaits, this seems enough."

The others nodded, silently accepting the unspoken command. Sylvia moved to put out the fire, and Lynne, surprisingly, aided her.

"Make sure you hang on," the brash woman whispered to her. "Make it to thirty, at least, that'd be worth something, don't you think?"

Saying nothing, Sylvia only nodded. _It would be worth a little something, though, wouldn't it?_ Thirty was not so few years, disease, childbirth, and a thousand other causes claimed many women's lives much sooner. Making it to that far would provide at least a semblance of human years to the life. _How like Lynne to have such a simple, but worthy goal. I do hope I can manage to meet it._

Then the fire was doused, and they each lay alone with their thoughts beneath the stars, no mind on the violence to come tomorrow.

Notes: This chapter was pretty hard to create, since it's the first (and one of very few in all) that Tyrin is not in, leaving me only the Claymores to work with. I've tried to make them all unique, but still be Claymores, which isn't easy.


	11. Eleventh Stroke: Different Colors

Eleventh Stroke – Different Colors

Dawn came, and four silver-eyed warriors awoke as one. They strapped on their armor and swords, scattered the few ashes of the campfire, ate a mouthful or so of tasteless granola, and got moving. It all took place in silence. There was no need for words now, it was time to work.

Jessica, her pace as swift as the previous day's, set the march. The other three forced themselves to match her.

Silvia got her first glimpse of the village about half an hour past dawn, when they crested a small ridge. It looked surprisingly normal, the crops were untended and wild about it, but the rest seemed more or less intact. _The yoma must have been rather reserved_, she decided. _Normally they tear down most of the buildings, or set fire to the town when they rampage through. _Nevertheless, fires streamed smoke in unusual places, so clearly the village was not in any normal state.

As the Claymores approached they started to feel the yoki, growing a minuscule measure stronger with every step, building and building. It was something like descending into deep fog, more and more pervasive as time wore on.

Jessica grimaced, so did Lynne, while Sylvia held her expression forcibly neutral, though impossibly tense. Racquel had it the worst, obviously to them all. Her expression blanched, as close as a half-human half-yoma could come to looking sick.

"Don't like the feel of yoki?" Lynne quipped nastily at the younger Claymore. "It's only going to get worse you know."

"I am aware of that," Racquel's voice was smooth and steady, completely different from the emotions written on her face. "And it is not the flavor, just that there is so much of it. It is like swimming in a sea of blood."

In a way the young woman was correct, it did have that sort of sticky, clinging feeling, a great sense of too much everything. Yoki was a part of them as well as of yoma, but it was hardly welcome for all that. "We must simply focus on the task at hand," Sylvia whispered to Racquel. They were empty words really, since focusing on the yoma properly required one to plow even deeper into the flow of yoki, but she offered them anyway, considering it appropriate.

"Keep moving," Jessica admonished them all, betraying a hint of the dark temper that must have terrified the innkeeper.

They reached the edge of the town with the rising sun at their backs, low on the horizon, a screaming wall of light to confuse their attackers. It was of only little use against yoma, whose senses were strong against glare, but no sense in wasting even the tiniest advantage.

"Nice place," Lynne commented as they hit the outer ring of buildings.

She was quite correct; all the others could see buildings in good condition, with only rare signs of violence.

"Perhaps the villagers simply fled?" Racquel offered.

_That seems unlikely_, Sylvia thought to herself. She had passed through towns in utterly wretched condition from the depredations of yoma, but rarely did the people flee. Young men might, and sometimes young women, but the older people would stay, bound to their land, and the children stayed with the parents. It was beyond the Claymore to know what bound people to land in the face of certain death, she who had no home and could recall only the vaguest memories of whatever one she had once lost, but she knew that people would almost never leave. _Is that what separates us from humans?_ Sylvia wondered darkly. _We will die for ourselves, or sometimes for our comrades, but not for a patched of earth as they do. Is that something we have lost? _

"The yoma haven't come to greet us," Lynne smiled. "I guess that means we get to root them out?"

"They will come," Jessica spoke with certainty. "Violence draws them forth. Advance."

So they did, moving into the town further, toward the second, central ring of buildings centered about the lone well that surely occupied the center.

Sylvia could not tell what the first clue was. She expected she missed many. Afterwards she would berate herself for not wondering why the thatch was not as rotted as it should be, why so few doors and windows had been wrenched apart, or why the smell of dead flesh was burnt, as opposed to raw as yoma normally fed. Had she picked up on those things all might have fallen out differently. The half-human half-yoma missed all this, however, all four of them did. Such was their lack of familiarity with the life of humans.

The village seemed devoid of people, but it was covered in a solid layer of yoki, very characteristic of a nest. The oppressive feeling was distracting, difficult to handle. It made hands itch on sword hilts, muscles tense, and yoki energy rumble within the body, demanding release, demanding to unleash death. Even Sylvia's tight and practiced control pattern was barely sufficient. She was holding a lid over a boiling pot, but some steam would inevitably escape.

It became obvious the yoma were all in the center of the town. A decent enough plan on their part, to concentrate their forces and attempt to overwhelm the Claymores who had come for them.

The exterminators were not without counter-tactics of their own.

"I will burst through their mass," Jessica instructed. "You three will circle together and hold your position. We will pin them and cut them down."

Walled-away perspective of buildings peered back only slowly, so the four Claymores had almost a full two rings of buildings behind them when finally they could see their quarry.

Only then did Sylvia realize her mistake.

"There are too many…" it began in a whisper, sliding through her lips in incomprehension.

Parsing out the individual yoma was not easy within the overwhelming mixture of yoki, but there were maybe twenty or twenty-five in village green at most.

A good fifty men stood there, waiting. Their heads turned as one when the Claymores approached.

"What's this? It makes no sense." Racquel's confusion spoke for them all.

One man, tall, with a swarthy complexion and a powerful build, certainly very fit for what must have been his middle years, broke the moment of quiet with a forceful shout. "Form up and attack!"

Footsteps pounded, metal rattled, and bodies distorted, but all was buried beneath the sound of two dozen yoma in wild laughter.

"Trap." It was Jessica who recognized the connection before the others, to Sylvia's shame; she should have expected this, made the realization long ago. Now panic surged through her as her human senses, reawakened from the dullness she had lazily allowed in this sea of yoki, reawakened to recognize the full truth of what was happening.

The group in front was not one group, but two, as the yoma, howling with glee and the anticipation of bloodshed, separated out from the other men, now more recognizable. Their clothing seemed ordinary enough, but it all matched, and looking with sharp silver eyes Sylvia saw the lines of light armor beneath the drab linen of what must be some type of uniform. They had hard eyes for men, and it reminded the half-human half-yoma slightly of Tyrin. Half held long spears, grabbed from careful hiding places in the short grass. The other group, behind the first for safety, held powerful crossbows. Slow to load, but with the killing power to seriously endanger even inhuman flesh on a solid strike. _These are not bandits_, Sylvia recognized quickly, _not farmers given weapons. These men are soldiers._

Clattering shod footsteps echoed behind and above, and the four warriors noted men with bows shimmying across thatched roofs and closing the path behind. More bows and spears faced them now.

Yoma laughter built and built, never ceasing as the creatures rippled and tore back into their true forms.

The soldiers didn't wait.

Triggers depressed, fingers released. Arrows and quarrels screamed through the air, leaving no time for anything more but reaction.

Sylvia ripped her sword free, ducking down as she did so, hoping to move under some of those hateful shafts. She whirled her massive blade about, blocking and avoiding in all directions.

The initial volley had little impact, but there was no time to pause as yoma claws followed behind it.

Overwhelming stimuli bore down as attacks came on from every direction. The Claymores pressed back together, covering each other instinctively as they knew to do and then striking back.

Laughter mixed with howls of pain. One yoma went down, a massive hole torn in its torso by Jessica's brutally swift blade. A severed arm joined him on the earth, as Racquel gracefully pivoted through her foe, deftly avoiding all yoma strikes to lop the limb away.

Sylvia, as the weakest present, held the rear position, her back to Jessica, and strangely, after a brief moment, facing no yoma. Instead she stared down into the face of perhaps three dozen men, a rank of spears blocking the road and two rows of crossbows behind. A single man in the center, wearing a lustrous black tabard, raised an arm. "Double volley!"

"Evade!" Sylvia shouted as loudly as she could to warn her companions. Beyond this she could only attempt to block.

Her massive blade flat side before her, Sylvia's arms moved in a storm of motions, shifting angle after angle to knock away those bolts, but there was no time. The men had released in unison on command, and the attacks filled too wide of an area. Even as she desperately let yoki flow down her arms, turning the world yellow and blood black-brown, giving flesh a hideous feeling of self-will that roiled her stomach and maddened her soul, it was too much. She couldn't move fast enough.

Sylvia jerked her shoulder left, willfully taking a bolt straight through the metal of her pauldron, feeling the cold metal point bite into her shoulder's flesh even blunted as it was, to prevent it from slamming Jessica in the back. More danger came from the other direction, for shooters were on all sides.

Ripping and tearing a barbed arrow lashed through Sylvia's right leg, burning cold pain and weakening her footing. Another bolt barely glanced off her right hip, denting the armor. A finger's width closer and it could have rendered the whole leg useless for a time. _I can't see!_ Sylvia howled silently, reliving the dark moments of that first battle with humans, but this all the worse. The pain was there, burning hot and cold at once, blood leaking around those ragged torn wounds, but this was only a minor distraction to the true hopelessness coursing through her mind. No room to maneuver, and men who knew their killing work far better than those other before them.

She wanted to charge, to hack down these offending men who stood before her, to slice them ribbons for daring to stand against her, a creature far superior to their pathetic little existences. It would be so easy, she could see it in her mind even as the defense continued desperately, slash them apart, and let red blood drench her from broken mortal shells.

_I must not_, Sylvia shook herself, fighting the siren song of the yoki, the bloodlust that came with yoma power, the urges to strike down anything, human, yoma, even half-human half-yoma. It was not easy, not easy at all, even though she had experience at it. The struggle weakened her; it engendered hesitation, reduced potential, created limits beyond just the limits of power that must never be crossed. _But there is no other way, we cannot strike humans! _The prohibition was as it was.

Sylvia's slight grunt in pain was not alone. At the edges of her vision she could observe wounds on Lynne and Racquel, and perhaps even Jessica had been struck somewhere.

"Dammit!" Lynne shrieked, losing her temper and control all at once. "We're pinned in like pigs in a sty! What's the plan miss number eight? Make it fast now."

Some distant, detached, and oddly calm part of Sylvia's mind managed to note that Lynne really could do with additional discipline in a crisis, even as the rest was lost in a desperate surge of survival.

"Retreat," Jessica responded, her voice level as before, and betraying nothing even as she held off as many yoma as could squeeze toward her at once. Sylvia could not see the single digit fight, could only hear the rush of shifting winds as the blade whirled about in air, impossibly quick and strong at once, so far beyond her. If they were all like that there would be no danger even now, but Sylvia and the others were weak by comparison. "Now, before the crossbows behind reload. I will give you three seconds."

"But, what about-" Racquel began.

"Don't question the single digit!" Lynne silenced her angrily.

"Go!" Jessica ordered.

They burst into motion, leaving everything behind utterly beyond them, looking only forward, leaving over twenty yoma and more than that in bowshots behind for Jessica to struggle with for three eternal seconds. _Don't die number eight_, Sylvia whispered silently, hoping the quiet warrior could indeed handle it.

Twelve spears before them, twelve men between buildings, an obstacle that must be overcome. They could not jump up, not with men above with bows, it would be too open, they had to push through, push through and put human bodies between their flesh and those deadly darts, hopefully that would provide these grim men pause, though Sylvia had no confidence of that.

"Stand fast!" the officer shouted, hefting his long spear, its foot and a half of steal strong enough to stop a even a half-human half-yoma long enough so that more blows, and then death, could accumulate. "They can't kill!"

The clatter of Jessica's sword work, lightning fast, and a cry of all-too-human pain, rose behind them.

Sylvia slammed the line first, turning her body to the side, presenting a narrowed target, as Tyrin always did when she charged, she slid in between those spears, then jerked her arm, using yoki to provide the impossible, inhuman strength, slapping side to side with the flat, knocking men aside like candlesticks.

An archer above saw her exposed backside and shot.

Sylvia, forewarned only by the briefest of glimpses, raised her stance to the end of her toes and took the arrow just beneath her ribcage, instead of through a lung. She pitched forward and rolled, striking out with her right hand, turning back to attempt at least one move to aid her comrades.

Racquel, a half-step only behind Sylvia, moved with liquid grace, using her blade to slam down the spearhead closest to her, then using the supple wood as a stepping stone, carrying her forward through the air with her feet level with the soldier's waists. She kicked out, sending two men crashing to the ground with smashed faces, then landed on her left hand, vaulting upright and forward still.

Lynne, on the other side, burst through the group by main force, slicing through spears and putting a shoulder forward. She took a crossbow bolt to the leg from the men behind, but was all but through, twisting past the soldiers.

The wave of men set off by Sylvia's actions crashed through those in front of Lynne, and previously men standing together and sturdy were not, and one slipped, his body falling into the flare-haired Claymore.

Her reactions heightened to fever pitch by yoki coursing through her body, Lynne's reaction was automatic. As she had been trained to do whenever an enemy stumbled, she took advantage of the opening.

Lynne's blade plunged through the man, cutting free a passage and leaving a ruined human corpse before it had even it the ground.

Time seemed to stop.

Sylvia could only watch that body descend slowly to the ground, to hit with the sickening collapsed motion, unresisting flesh, belonging to the dead, not the living. Dark red blood, so different in shade from that of yoma splashed upon them all, droplets hitting clothes, swords, and faces. The yellowed word seemed to go briefly orange. Shock burst within her, and yoki energy fell away from her body with unprecedented suddenness, all her emotions draining away utterly, only to flare molten once more as the cycle of the moment completed itself. She could see Lynne's absolute astonishment, the brash woman's mouth wide open, her eyes staring far off into space, seeing nothing.

Human panic was slower, but eyes widened in slow motion before Sylvia's gaze, and mouths distended to shout and scream.

Yet for a single space of time there was silence, into which Sylvia clearly heard her stricken comrade speak. "It can't be."

Then chaos reasserted itself. Shouts broke the air, and men struggled to raise their weapons again. Lynne, Sylvia and Racquel stood numb in shock, uncomprehending of what had happened.

Jessica appeared, eyes burning yellow flame, mouth set and grim. A half dozen arrows and quarrels stuck out from her body, and a claw wound had ripped open the side of her face. Her blade was drenched in the dark blood of yoma. "Move!" she hissed. "Escape now, worry later!" emotion bled into her voice for the first time since Sylvia had heard the single-digit speak.

They moved, but something strange caught the Claymore's eye. The man with the black tabard, the officer, stood next to her for a moment, holding the edge of his reforming line. Facing him from the side Sylvia could see an icon sewn into the shoulder of that garment, a figure that her eyes, swimming in every direction at once, could not presently place, but something deep inside told her it was important.

Recklessly she took two steps in the wrong direction, grabbing a spear with her bare left hand, her glove shredding and flesh and tendon ripping away. It hurt worse than all the other wounds, but she ripped the weapon away and with a bony, bloody grasp tore into the officer's sleeve, pulling free the black badge.

Jessica's sword crossed before her face to knock an arrow away from her eye. Sylvia had not even released the attack was coming, her vision had collapsed inward too far, this mad chaos was too much to take in entirely while still maintaining control "Go!" Jessica shouted again, voice distorted as her own blood leaked down into her mouth.

They ran, backwards, their faces toward the enemy, still wielding blades before them to knock away missiles as they went.

Yoma leapt over buildings, running with their own preternatural speed, moving to outflank the fleeing group.

Racquel pirouetted in midair, slicing an over-eager foe in half. Lynne, faced with a pair of yoma in front of her, blasted free energy to match her anger, yoki pouring out of her as she simply overbore the pair, her swordhilt in the right hand and the left pushing down the blade, pressing the demon's heads off their shoulders as a carpenter might plane imperfections from a knotted plank. The flare-haired Claymore seemed completely insensible to the pain of the deep gash her left hand acquired in this process.

Jessica scythed through everything before her, unbelievably fast, her blade moving in every direction, never hesitating. Few of her hits were lethal, but the yoma hesitated, and the Claymores burst free of the ring.

"Now we run!" the single digit ordered, and pushed for speed with everything she had, scything through fields on burning footfalls, leaving the bloody village behind as fast as they could.

Screams and howls of yoma triumph, and the jeering comments of humans, followed them. Sylvia could recall only one, a cry of "Silver-Eyed Cowards!" before the village vanished from her hearing.

They did not go far, not even as far as the campsite where they had spent the night, but instead the group collapsed in the trees when they had moved beyond the sight of the village.

"There is no pursuit," Racquel spoke through wheezing breaths. I can't feel any yoki, and the humans couldn't possibly keep up this way." She slid down to the ground, bleeding from several wounds.

"We must heal," Jessica noted, not really ordering. The single-digit reached down to her stomach and, with a grunt, ripped out a buried crossbow quarrel in a spurt of blood.

Sylvia mirrored the motion, pulling out the offending pieces of wood and metal, carefully directing her yoki to replace lost flesh, staunch bleeding, and restore her strength. Individually no wound, not even the one on her hand, was especially serious, but added up she was greatly weakened, and there was blood everywhere. The old bloodstains were all but buried beneath the new damage, all her own.

The others were equally impaired, Jessica worst of all, some of those crossbow bolts having apparently passed through yoma flesh to slam into her body. _An smart tactic_, Sylvia noted, _though cruel_.

It was a silent gathering there, as flesh mended, no one wanted to talk about what had occurred; their failure or anything else. Instead they waited, and rumbled through their bags for food, knowing it was necessary to speed recovery. The coarse grains were tasteless to her tongue, now buried beneath the metallic flavor of blood, but they gave her strength, and her body repaired itself swiftly enough, the horror or the wounds and the dread specter of death they engendered fading rapidly.

Finally Lynne, voice and face stricken in a way Sylvia had never seen nor expected from the energetic warrior. "What the hell do I do now?"

"_We_," Jessica stressed the term. "Are going back to Treadersberg. Everything can be handled later."

"But the rules…" Racquel attempted miserably.

"We will handle things as they fall out," Jessica spoke sternly. "The circumstances are extraordinary, we can only hope for the best."

"That's hardly anything!" Lynne shouted back at the dispassionate single digit.

Jessica said nothing, clearly uninterested in arguing.

"Lynne," Sylvia felt she should say something, anything, even though there was nothing really there. "It's not like there's anything else to do."

Lynne grimaced, and stared at the rest of them, burning with rage. "Easy enough for you to say. The sword's not hanging over your head."

It bit ever so deep, that remark, brutal it was. Sylvia didn't know what to say, she felt horribly wrong, totally confused. _But what can I do?_ She had no answers. Jessica's plan, which consisted of little more than hope vested in persons not known for mercy, was hardly ideal, but no other options presented themselves.

"Enough," the single-digit ordered. "We have to get moving."

They were a tired, battered, and altogether silence procession as they moved out. No one said much of anything. Sylvia avoided looking at Lynne, not wanting to think about it, to think abut anything to do with the whole miserable ambush. All she knew was that this day had marked another change, a new development, and that everything had gotten worse, not better.

Notes: I am not entirely happy with this chapter, but for the moment here it is. Hopefully it serves its purpose even in the imperfect form presented.


	12. Twelfth Stroke: Starlight Sentence

Twelfth Stroke – Starlight Sentence

They did not march briskly on the return to Treadersberg. Instead, it was a slow, miserable trudge. Jessica set the pace as before, but she could not make much in the way of time, her energy had been drained away with all the blood she had lost, and what remained was needed for healing. It was only the degradation of her pace that revealed the true extent of her wounds. The single digit's face was an expressionless mask, completely concealing any revelations.

Sylvia found it hard to look at Jessica, once it became clear just how much damage she had suffered. _She did it to save us_, Sylvia knew. Replaying the hideous battle in her mind, time after time to reach some mysterious sense of detachment beyond the blood and yoki, it eventually became crystal clear. _Had we not been led by a single digit none of us would have made it out alive. _Sylvia could revisit the snapping of bowstrings and the click of crossbows in her mind against the screaming motions of Jessica's sword, and she knew. Neither she, nor Lynne, nor Racquel could have done what the number eight, with such greater speed and grace, had managed to salvage.

_Even at the end_, Sylvia comprehended belatedly; _she could still reach out to aid us_. She recalled the arrow Jessica had deflected away when she grabbed the officer's sleeve. Had she taken that hit, to the still vulnerable head, the Claymore suspected she would have lost all sensation for perhaps as much as ten seconds; a death sentence in the environment of the battle.

_Let this be worth it_, she silently whispered to the bloody scrap of cloth. She could make out a rough, feathered symbol buried beneath two bars. Presumably the bars signified rank, and the symbol the unit, but Sylvia could glean no more from that. Nothing in her knowledge schooled her to the symbols of human military formations. Still, she was resolved to find some use in this bit she had retrieved, her only useful contribution to the battle. _I did not manage to kill any yoma_, she recognized to her minor shame, _so this must have meaning._

No one spoke as they marched. They were silent in their shock and despair. Jessica faced sternly ahead, her eyes fixated on the path before her, not deviating to even consider anything beyond that. Racquel's gaze wandered in all directions, settling on nothing. Lynne, poor Lynne, stared off into the distance, perhaps trying to peer beyond the borders of the world, and thereby forget. It was abjectly depressing, but there was hardly anything to rally, and Sylvia could find no words.

Lynne's agony was understandable in the abstract, though it was impossible to share. The rules were part of it, to be sure, Sylvia could imagine having such a thing hanging over her fate, but she knew there must be more. _After all,_ she had recognized with a shock shortly into the retreat march. _I have never taken the life of a human_. That was not a reflection of kindness, not for her and certainly not for Lynne, who looked down on humans, but it was a line that, once crossed, turned into a vast and unfathomable gulf. _This prohibition, it goes deeper than simply where we swing our swords,_ Sylvia realized with a shiver. _I know not how, but it has shaped us all in some fashion._ It was frightful to recognize, but a human warrior like Tyrin might take more human lives in a day than all forty-seven of the organization's Claymores, so feared by humans, in a decade. _And yet, they still hate us just as much as yoma._ The eyes of the soldiers as they had leveled their spears were all the evidence anyone would ever need.

So, while she might understand Lynne's distress, that of Jessica and Racquel was more puzzling, especially the single digit. Her mind turning circles about this puzzle, anything to keep her mind off Lynne and the soldiers, the Claymore eventually realized that it was not them, but her_. I have become inured to this, for it was the third time_. Though it had been plain enough to observe the difference between trained soldiers and bandits, Sylvia had still seen humans fight with yoma previously. The others had not faced that in the past. They were experiencing the true shock of the despicable alliance for the first time. _Yet_, the Claymore recognized sorrowfully. _It will certainly not be the last. Even had we won today, I doubt this was the center of it. There is some greater hand here. _She forbore thinking on what that might be, knowing she was not ready to consider it yet.

Treadersberg suddenly seemed so very far away. Taking guidance from Jessica, Sylvia focused her attention on the route before her, and piece by piece slowly channeled all the rest away, until the blissful oblivion of repeated steps took over her mind.

With their slowed pace the return journey took far longer than the going had. As the sun set Jessica ordered everyone to eat more, but otherwise they were silent. They did not even stop, but dragged along eating as they walked. The moon rose, slender and clear, beneath an unforgiving sky full of countless stars.

Half the night was gone, and the moon fading upon the horizon, before the town pulled into view.

Jessica gave a half-step, as if she was considering stopping, but then plunged on.

A moment later they turned a bend in the road to see an unusual shadow waiting on a roadside stone wall.

"You're late," the black drenched man spoke in a voice Sylvia instantly recognized.

Then, as the group came into focus and passed a gap in the overshadowing trees the voice changed. "What the hell happened?" he shouted, losing all semblance of control as he saw those blood-coated and pierced uniforms.

"Why is it you, Luny?" Sylvia inquired as idly as she could manage, having expected Jessica's handler instead.

"Because I'm managing the area for now," the cowl-wearing man's reply was terse. "But that's not an answer to my question; I want to know what happened." His eyes were hidden in the darkness but his head was turned directly to face Jessica. "Number eight, you need to report."

"Mission failed," Jessica's voice was empty, hollow, as if it had been gouged out slowly.

"Failed?" Luny did not appear surprised, but there was an edge to his words. "Failed how? Was there an awakened being present?"

It was a surprisingly generous way to begin the interrogation into a failure, almost as if the man in black was worried it might be something worse. _If there was an awakened being, failure would be forgiven, Jessica might even be praised for keeping everyone alive, _Sylvia knew. _Luny suspects something_, she guessed. _He is not so nice_.

"No," Jessica, even in defeat, offered few words of explanation.

"Well then, I need an explanation, not monosyllables," the man in black rasped. "Don't tell me a nest defeated you, it should have been well handled."

"There was…" Sylvia watched the single digit's face clench as she searched for the appropriate word. "…Interference."

Luny's left hand rose up, three fingers half-clenched, the other two bent in as usual. He seemed to be trembling, though from what emotion no one could tell. "Interference? Don't give me such babble!" he hissed. "I need information, stop being evasive and tell me what happened." He calmed visibly. "I'll get to the truth eventually, so don't try to play games, all it does is try my patience."

"A large human force supported the yoma," Jessica explained, and Lynne shot the single digit a baleful look.

_Does she feel betrayed?_ Sylvia wondered. _But how can we lie? Luny is good at digging through us, and Jessica is no dissembler._ Sylvia regretted the other's lack of skill at deception even as she silently gave thanks for not having to give the explanation herself. _Please, Jessica_, Sylvia silently begged. _Find a way to hide Lynne's infraction, there's no need for it to be brought to light._ Normally Sylvia believed strongly in the rules, they provided essential structure to the life of a half-human half-yoma, held them together, but not this time. _Lynne understands what has happened, and this is unlike any other case, it is not right for her to die._ For her own part, she knew that it would be no burden to carry the secret forever if it should spare the loud warrior today.

"Humans?" Luny's voice froze. "Humans and yoma again, how unfortunate. What were the numbers, the results?"

"Twenty-five yoma, all standard types, though some were experienced," Jessica's voice had returned to normal as she recited her short list. "Something above seventy humans, perhaps eighty all told, it was not possible to get an exact count. Seven yoma were slain in the course of the battle, four by me, one by Racquel, and two by Lynne."

"Seven, barely more than a fourth, not good enough, not enough at all," Luny shook his covered head. "That's enough to weaken the nest, but not remove it." Then he paused, and went completely motionless for a moment. His head jerked up, staring into Jessica's silver eyes in the starlight. "And the human deaths?"

"None, though there were perhaps a dozen wounded, some seriously."

"You're lying," Luny's left hand shot up to rest inches from Jessica's face, his thumb, index ringer, and middle finger all poised to bore into her head. "You shouldn't lie to me. You don't have enough practice at it, number eight Jessica. Now, the truth, how may human dead, and who did it?" his voice was ice cold.

Jessica stood silent, refusing to speak. Sylvia felt great admiration for her fellow warrior in that moment that she believed strongly enough in Lynne's innocence to try defy the organization straight up_. But it won't be enough_, she knew. _Silence won't stop him._

"How many human dead!" Luny shouted, raising his voice suddenly and far louder than Sylvia had ever remembered from the smallish man in black. "Which one of you did it? Or are you all guilty? Is that it then?" His accusation ripped at them. "Should I order four executions?"

Sylvia steeled herself, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at anything but the stone wall behind Luny. _I must not move, I must not speak, otherwise I will betray Lynne; I know it. _She regretted this, but it was her only refuge, she didn't think she could trick him.

Looking away from them all, Sylvia did not see what would trigger the next outburst. She would never know who it was that gave them away, something she was glad to not have to bear, weak though that course might be.

"So it's you then Lynne?" It was not really a question. "How many then?"

"One," Jessica admitted, and Sylvia's head turned to stare. See could not see why the single digit chose this answer. Perhaps she simply felt uncomfortable lying to the man in black. It certainly wasn't something any Claymore had much experience attempting.

"One is one more than zero," Luny replied mercilessly.

"But it was an accident," Sylvia heard the words spill from her own mouth without practically realizing she had spoken. "A man stumbled and became impaled on Lynne's sword; it was not something she did." She did not really know where the words came from, but she realized what she was trying to do. Perhaps she could save Lynne's life if Luny believed the fault lay with humans. "It's not like she killed him, he just died while we were there."

"You're a better liar than Jessica," Luny's head moved and he met her eyes coldly. "Perhaps it was an accident, but no warrior's sword takes the life of a human by such a simple error, none of you are that weak. Right Lynne?" he was still looking at Sylvia.

"You trained us to hit," Lynne's words, the first she had spoken in this encounter, were full of feeling. "You trained us to hit back, to kill vulnerable people, and we can even do it while retreating from powerful foes. He stumbled and I reacted. That's what I'm supposed to do, and you know it, damn it! Are you going to blame me for how you trained me?"

Sylvia shook her head. _That is not the way Lynne, it's foolish_. To her dismay, she discovered that she had expected the other warrior to say something unfortunate like that.

"Yes," Luny's voice turned to ice once more.

"But the circumstances!" Racquel finally made her presence known, pleading. "Humans and yoma at once, if we can't strike back, what can we do? Should we die?"

"Circumstances are irrelevant," Luny answered. "The rule states death is the punishment for killing a human no matter the situation."

"Surely the rule did not anticipate this kind of human-yoma alliance?" Sylvia tried a desperate tack, knowing things were unraveling quickly. "The rule assumes we can handle humans without killing, but when they stand with yoma, that is simply not the case."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't matter." The man in black did not budge.

"Doesn't matter!" Lynne roared. "How can it not matter? That rule almost got us all killed today! It's the whole reason this alliance exists, if there were no rule, then the humans wouldn't dare stand with the yoma! You've set us up to die because of your damn rule; it's a two-sided snare!"

"I know," Luny snapped, showing real anger, not the false anger he'd used to denounce them before. "I am aware of the situation, but the rules must be upheld. If this continues we may have to change the rules. So it goes. But, but! For now they stand, and under those rules you…Lynne…have forfeited your life." The words came slowly, piece by piece, but there was no doubt of the resolve behind that voice.

"You expect me to just choose to die!" she shouted, drawing up to her full height, standing over Luny, silver eyes burning yellow as anger took hold.

A hideous question, one with an equally hideous answer. "Yes," Luny said the single word clearly and carefully.

"Why should I?" Lynne demanded. "I can run. I don't have to sit and wait to die. You think they'll" she pointed back at the other three Claymores. "Kill me at your order over this? Do you?"

"If you chose to desert now, I will not be able to stop you," Luny admitted candidly. "But that will not spare you," he added, voice turning harsh and angry once more. "That will only add more deaths to the price that must be paid. If they refuse an order and let you escape, then all four will stand condemned. Teams will be dispatched to hunt you down, and they will succeed. Don't think the organization can't find you, or that the other warriors will share your plight. Run now and you will only buy deaths for everyone."

Sylvia knew Luny spoke the truth, they could not resist the wrath of the organization should it be directed at them. There were plenty of warriors who had no empathy at all, and no group of four led only by number eight could resist the strength brought against them. They might hide out for a while, but it would not last. Beyond all these cold calculations was something deeper. _I do not want to desert. I do not want to perish for this, for Lynne. _Two things remained clear to Sylvia. She would not raise her sword against Lynne, not tonight; not at Luny's order, but neither did she want to flee because of this. With horror she recognized that the brash and angry warrior held her life in her hands, and she hated that feeling, helpless as it was.

"And more will follow," Luny continued. "Do you think you are the only life this foul agreement has claimed? Do you?" he rebuked Lynne, staring up into those wrath-filled eyes without hesitation. "You're wrong, you aren't alone. Others have fallen!" he proclaimed it to them all. "At least two, lost in villages where yoma and human fought side by side, perhaps a third, and surely more to come before the word can be spread to all warriors. You will not be the first life this madness has claimed number thirty-two, but if you refuse execution here, matters will only become worse."

"What?" Lynne appeared confused, not comprehending the implications.

"If you take these four with you a team will have to be dispatched after you all, perhaps multiple teams if you scatter. Attention will be drawn away from the important matter!" Luny's words were livid now, filled with a passion Sylvia had not seen before, and did not understand. "More will die, and every minute this grouping of humans and yoma continues it grows wider, the ideas spread and become more and more difficult to contain. Eventually nothing will stop it, and the whole world could be corrupted and the organization's work undone! Die here, now, Lynne, and these three can go back, immediately, and hunt down the source of this menace. They can destroy it! They can save the lives of many more warriors, but for that you must die!"

"Why?" Racquel's voice was soft, but her speech was so unexpected everyone turned to stare. "Why must Lynne die? Why should anyone? If the rules must upheld, so be it, but why must the rules be wronged here?"

"You want me to lie then?" Luny cut to the heart of it swiftly. He paused a moment, and Sylvia wondered if he was actually giving the matter serious consideration. "I could lie," he said carefully. "But I won't."

"Why not damn you?" Lynne burst.

"Because I will not," Luny answered. "The humans you left alive are likely to spread the word no matter what, and for that the organization must answer, must uphold its edicts. Yet, that is not the only reason," he continued. "I will not have our rules mocked; I will not debase everything for the sake of one warrior. You all might promise to keep the secret and never tell, but I refuse to believe that. It would not last, and the price for such a falsehood would be greater than one life in the end. So I will not lie for you."

"So you will have me die for you instead!" Lynne shouted at him.

"I will have you die!" Luny retorted. "What it is for is up to you. Whether for your comrades, for the organization, or the rest I do not care. The order is as it stands: You, number thirty-two, Lynne, are marked for death by the organization. There is only one question that remains. Will you accept your execution, or will you run?"

"Damn you! Damn you! DAMN YOU TO HELL!" Lynne's voice, fueled by rage and yoki, rose to ear splitting power.

"That is not an answer," Luny stood calmly before the storm.

"I should rip your black-covered head right off!" Lynne hissed.

"You could, but it would change nothing, only add another body to the pile," Sylvia had to grant that Luny must either have incredible confidence, or great courage, for Lynne's body quivered with murderous intent, yet the man in black never wavered.

Suddenly, faster than Sylvia could follow, Lynne deflated. All the energy bled out of her, and she sank to the ground on her knees. "Fine then, have your sickening pound of flesh." Her voice was still strong and fierce, but it lacked true support now.

"I appreciate your cooperation," Luny told her, and Sylvia thought she caught a flicker of sadness in the voice. For her part, she was numb, unable to think anything. Everything was sucked away, and now it was a fog, waiting.

"Ideally, I would let you send your black card to any member you chose," Luny explained in clipped, reasoned tones. "However, time is critical, so I must ask you chose among those present. That is more than most who violate the rules would receive."

_One of us must do this then?_ Sylvia realized with sudden shock, before it was buried beneath yet more numbness. _We must cut down our comrade who has committed no real crime, only fallen afoul of circumstance, for the sake of some simple rules? Is this the nature of law? To mock justice so?_

Lynne turned, and looked at each of the three in turn, fixing Racquel, Jessica, and Sylvia each with her steady gaze, now silver once again. Darkness obscured the details of her face, but it was clear there were no tears in her eyes.

_She will pick Jessica_, Sylvia guessed. Racquel was too young, there was no need for her to do this, and Lynne did not like Sylvia, they were too different of people. The single digit was the only one who made sense.

"No," Lynne whispered slowly. "It's not right. Not this way."

Luny appeared on the cusp of words.

"Sylvia," Lynne's voice demanded attention. "Where's the woman who was with you?"

"What?" she could not comprehend this change of events.

"Where is she?" Lynne repeated. "Still in Treadersberg? Go get her."

"Get her? What has Tyrin to do with this?" It made no sense.

"I want her to do it," Lynne said simply.

Sylvia froze, Racquel gasped, and even Luny's mouth fell wide open in a moment of shock.

"Why?" Sylvia managed after a long moment, recovering at least some semblance of speech.

"I'm going to die for humans," Lynne said without hesitation. "So I want a human to do it. She's the best candidate. So go get her!"

"Tyrin is not mine to command," Sylvia churned through any option that presented itself, not knowing what to do, having no method to deal with this situation at all, totally adrift. "I cannot make her do it, no one can."

"Then ask," Lynne spoke impatiently. "Do it now, hurry, I can't stand this."

Unable to determine what she should do, Sylvia turned to Luny.

"Go," he said without needing any words. "There is little time, but I suppose this can be allowed."

So Sylvia went, still without understanding.

She ran to Treadersberg, pushing her wounded body perhaps harder than she ought, but she didn't have any focus, so she ran.

It was not far to the town at the pace of a running Claymore, minutes perhaps. This late, only a few watchmen remained on guard, and they had no intention of accosting a Claymore in a hurry.

Recalling the inn where she had left Tyrin, only yesterday, though it seemed much longer, was easy.

Amazingly she did not have to wake the human warrior, as the other woman was just leaving the inn, armed and armored.

"Tyrin," Sylvia skidded to a stop over hardened earth. "What are you doing awake?"

"Running out of patience," the soldier replied. "You said you'd be back earlier, and the waiting was getting to me. So I decided to quit staying up in bed and go looking" She squinted at the Claymore, struggling to see in the darkness. "It looks like something happened."

"I need you to come with me briefly," Sylvia rushed, knowing there was little time. "Sorry, but I'll explain on the way."

"What happened?" Tyrin demanded, her expression souring.

Sylvia set into motion and Tyrin matched her, walking briskly. "The nest we were to clear out, unfortunately there were a number of human soldiers waiting in ambush."

"Bad," Tyrin recognized immediately.

"Yes, there were some substantial difficulties," Sylvia did not properly know where to begin. _How do you tell someone they've been asked to be an executioner?_

"So why do you need me?" Tyrin questioned. "Is there pursuit?"

"No, that is not the problem," Sylvia answered. "It is well," she hesitated. "Perhaps it is best if others explain. It is not far."

Indeed, the return did not take long at all, and Sylvia estimated that little more than half an hour had passed since she left her companions. The scene, with Lynne lying on her knees by the roadside, had not changed at all.

It took Tyrin some time to notice things, her human eyes could not match silver ones in the darkness, and she had to get close as a result. Sylvia thought the human woman's gaze fixated strangely on Luny's black figure, only to recall that though she had heard about the man and lived in his shadow for some time, she had never seen him before.

"What's going on?" she put the question to everyone.

"Something unpleasant," Jessica said first.

"I'll explain, damn it," Lynne cut off the single digit. She fixed her silver eyes on Tyrin's face, locking her gaze with the soldier's. "I need you to do something."

"Do what? What can I do that you can't?" Tyrin could sense something was wrong, Sylvia observed, but she remained uncertain.

"You can take that sword and cut off my head with it," Lynne said bluntly. "I hope you can manage it in one stroke."

"What!"

"I killed a human today," Lynne's face held a bitter smile. "Stupid thing really, a complete accidental mistake, but it seems the rules are the rules. Luny here's made it clear; I have to accept my fate, or too many others will die, and I'll only live for a short while longer anyway. Since it's like that, I'd rather not be known as a deserter."

"But if the humans attacked you then…surely," Tyrin's voice held clear disbelief.

"Don't soldiers sometimes lose their heads for things they did with the best intentions?" Lynne's smile was sickly, but it was somehow still there, Sylvia couldn't understand it.

"Yes," Tyrin admitted, words laced with bitterness. "It does happen, but why should that happen to you, here?"

"We are half-human half-yoma, I guess we've got the nastiest rules to keep us in line," Lynne shrugged.

"Why me? Surely one of your comrades should…"

"NO!" Lynne shouted. "If I'm to die for a human's life, then I want a human to do it! Will you do it? Well?"

Slowly Tyrin drew her sword. She looked at it carefully, examining the broad steel blade in the starlight. She stepped over to stand before Lynne, raising the blade carefully in a two handed grip. Sylvia stood to her left, the other two Claymores behind their kneeling comrade, and the shadowy image of Luny behind.

Lynne tilted her head back. "Straight across, in one blow, you can manage that right?"

"This is absurd," Tyrin rambled. "How can you accept this?"

"I've made my decision, so I'll stick with it," She stared back at the human woman. "Hesitating is for the weak." She fixed the soldier with a brilliant smile, her face brighter than Sylvia had ever seen on any of her kind. A kind of deep happiness that she didn't believe even existed for them. "And you can tell me how great I am later." Lynne finished.

"I'll make sure to do that," Tyrin raised her blade, trembling and shaking, positioning it side to side, to make the strike from left to right.

The sword was ready, but she simply held it there, waiting, unable to move.

"What are you waiting for?" Lynne demanded, her eyes to the sky. "Do it now! Before I lose my resolve!"

"DO IT!"

Tyrin moved.

The blade came across.

There was a brief spurt of blood, and then the head sailed slowly through the air, smoothly tumbling toward the ground.

Jessica caught it in one hand at the neck the moment before it would have struck the dirt.

Everyone was still.

Sylvia felt empty of everything. It was as if some dark thing from the center of the earth had reached up and swallowed a piece of her world, taking it away without explanation or cause. All was blotted out, and there was no reason to anchor it.

Tyrin moved again. She her right leg jerked backwards, weight shifted, and her whole body turned, spinning. The sharp steel, stained with blood, flashed out, motion cleared the redness from that edge, revealing razor edged cutting strength.

With such a quick move in the darkness Tyrin must have been able to see very little, but she did not miss her target. The sword cut through Luny's black cowl, and seared a ragged red line along the edge of his skull.

"Wha-" the man in black grunted in shock, but the soldier was not done.

Her body still moving, the left arm followed in the path of the right, and a gauntleted hand slammed square in the middle of the man in black's face.

Luny jerked backward, thrown to the ground and crumpled.

Tyrin, breathing with bellows force, stood over him.

Slowly the man in black struggled to his feet. Blood leaked down the right side of his face in great quantity, as a head wound was want to do, and he held his left hand over a shattered nose, itself dripping blood.

"Wretch," he hissed, voice somewhat distorted, but clear enough in its way. "You dare!"

"Yes I dare!" Tyrin spat in Luny's face. "To hell with you!"

"The organization is not mocked like this woman!" he howled in response, wiping away a stream of blood. "You will pay!"

"What are you going to do?" Tyrin mocked. "Order them to kill me?" she gestured at the remaining three Claymores. "They can't! You've made that crystal clear haven't you!"

Sylvia could hardly believe what was happening, and by her eyes neither could Luny, for the man in black looked panicked in a way she'd never observed on any of them, ever.

Casually the soldier put away her blade. "You know what Luny, if you even deserve a name from me," Tyrin's voice burned. "I'd kill you myself, right now, but I'm not a murderer, and it wouldn't be worth it anyway. I'll tell you what though," and she pushed her face very close to his blood-spattered one, though she still spoke so all could hear. "We think of them as monsters, silver-eyed witches and so forth, us humans, but I learned something tonight. It's you people who make monsters out of them. It's not them, it's you. You can keep the scar I gave you to remind you of that."

"You will regret this," Luny spat out blood. "I-"

"Threaten me any more and I will cut your throat out and leave you to rot on the side of the road," Tyrin hissed, pushing away from Luny's face. "Don't think I'm not tempted to do it right now."

Luny gave the woman a steel-eyed look, face rapidly becoming coated in a smooth sheen of blood. He said nothing to the soldier, but looked at the others. "Your mission isn't over," he commanded. "You will go back to the village and clear out the yoma. Drive the humans back, and follow them. Find the source of this madness, and destroy it! Until you do, don't bother coming back again." He stood and hobbled back over the rock wall, heading toward the woods. Just before he reached them, he turned back a final time, and Sylvia thought she saw a vengeful smile on his face. "I don't think there's any reason to provide you a fourth member, since you have such an eager volunteer with you." Then he vanished into the shadows beneath the boughs.

Tyrin took one last look, and then collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down her face.

Sylvia watched as Jessica laid Lynne's head atop her body, and then discovered that she too was crying in the dirt, incomprehensibly. Racquel as well joined them. Jessica remained standing, and was silent, but water flowed down from her eyes all the same.

Eventually, the first glimpses of a still far-off dawn breaking in the eastern sky, the single-digit spoke. "We must bury our comrade, the rest can wait."

Notes: One of the several reasons this chapter is staged at night is so that I can dodge questions of what color Luny's blood might be, because, unfortunately, we just don't know what the men in black are (Rubel's lack of aging strongly implies that they aren't ordinary humans, but just what is anyone's guess). That made writing an already difficult chapter even more challenging than it would otherwise be.


	13. Thirteenth Stroke: Somber Crumbs

Thirteenth Stroke – Somber Crumbs

Conducting a burial was easier said than done. The ground was solid and rocky here, so it would take more than makeshift tools. After a few moments of breaking up ground with their swords and trying to scoop it aside with their shoulder pauldrons, Jessica ordered Racquel to run into Treadersberg and borrow some shovels.

Sylvia kept working, scooping and scraping the resistant earth, while the other was gone. Jessica knelt next to her, much the same. Neither spoke much. The single-digit's countenance was grim and unrevealing, but that was little different from normal.

_I wonder if she has done this before?_ Sylvia could not voice the question; it would never do to ask that. She had buried only one comrade in the past, years before, after her first encounter with an awakened being. That had been a sad occasion, but it could not compare to the overwhelming blanket of grief and wrongness consuming this event. It was hard to focus on the task at hand, and the Claymore kept finding herself stopped suddenly, having lapsed into recollection, seeing Lynne's face again.

It was the smile on that face that tortured Sylvia's mind. The strange, impossible happiness she had seen there in the moment before death. She could not understand, could not comprehend. _How did you come to accept it Lynne?_ There was no answer to be found even in the depths of her own mind; only repeating scenes of a head floating slowly through the air, in a cool arc that would never end.

How long it took for Racquel to return was not knowable, in the blurry time of deep gray, the sky glimmering with only hints of a rising sun far away. Return she did, and passed out shovels as they looked upon the pathetic handiwork accomplished while they had lacked proper tools.

Thereafter it went faster, dirt and stones flew away quickly, the blows striking ground as fast and hard as tools could take. One shovel only was wielded with all the strength its handler could put behind it. For the three half-human half-yoma restraint must be constantly exercised, or their great strength might well break the tools so essential to speedy completion.

Tyrin labored under no such restriction. Her strength might be substantial for a human woman, but there was no risk of her smashing wood in half. She wielded the shovel with a will, breathing hard and sweat pouring down her face, seeking a form of release denied the others. Sylvia looked on the human warrior with something like jealousy for a moment, but then grief overwhelmed it again.

Gradually a deep hole, roughly oval, took shape in the rocky ground. The sun rose off to the east slowly bathing all in gold and banishing the lingering chill of the summer night. The sweat poured off them in the end, scented metallic as it absorbed the blood lingering in uniforms and on skin. Soon the air about them all smelled of a battlefield.

Again and again Sylvia observed the conflict of the day before replayed in her memory, until the handle of her shovel felt like a sword hilt, and each blow plunged it deep into the crackling flesh and bone of a human soldier, just as Lynne's blade had.

Then they were scooping out leftover dirt with Tyrin's helmet serving as a bucket, and all was ready.

"Sylvia, Racquel," Jessica motioned to them, putting down her shovel.

Blinking carefully to clear the mixture of sweat and tears from her eyes, Sylvia put her own shovel down. She shuffled about with bent knees, moving to the top of Lynne's body, trying to avoid glancing at the severed head as she did so. Racquel moved to the other side. The youthful Claymore had a soft, saddened look blanketing her face.

Slowly Racquel reached under Lynne's body and lifted her by the hips.

Sylvia used that moment to slide free the long sword from its holster. She placed it down on the ground next to the body. Then, looking at Racquel to make sure she was ready and there would be no mishaps, she grasped Lynne's body by the cold metal of her shoulder pauldrons, and lifted.

They moved together with great care and diligence, slowly lowering down into the hole so freshly dug the cool body of their comrade. When the body was placed Jessica reached over the side of the grave and carefully handed Sylvia the head.

Clenching her teeth to avoid any outcry or retching, Sylvia took it, looking only at the backside, not daring the cold silver eyes. She placed the head quietly on its side, where it would have been attached before being so recently severed, and then turned away. _I am sorry Lynne_, Sylvia shrieked inside. _I can't bear any more than that_.

When the pair had exited the pit Jessica shoveled on the first pile of dirt. More followed, as all wielded their shovels rapidly, saying nothing.

The dirt and stone piled up loosely, forming a low rounded mound above the grave when they were finished. Jessica picked up Lynne's sword and with both hands drove it sharply into that mass of earth, solid enough to insure it would not be idly moved.

"Is that all?" Tyrin asked quietly when no one spoke and the single-digit began to turn away.

"Our swords are our grave markers," Sylvia explained carefully.

"No, no," Tyrin shook her head. "I mean, is there some service or something?"

"You mean a religious service?" Racquel's voice was full of surprise. "Do human soldiers do that?"

"Yes, of course," Tyrin appeared confused. "I mean, most groups have some kind of chaplain, and there's usually a mass for the dead if there's any time."

"What if there is no chaplain?" Jessica asked, not curious, just speaking.

"Well, most officers are taught a field prayer, for patrols and such," Tyrin fielded the question after a moment. "I suppose that includes me, if you want."

"Do you think the gods would listen to prayers for such as us?" Sylvia asked softly, trying to hide her desperation at such a thought, and fearful of the answer.

Tyrin stood silent, and Sylvia, looking at the human warrior, wondered if she too feared the answer to that question.

"It does not matter," Jessica spoke for them both. "It is not our way, though I commend your feelings."

"What now?" Racquel dared in the heavy silence that followed.

"We need rest," Jessica determined, and Sylvia knew she was quite right, they had gotten no sleep this night, and their bodies were suffering from repairing their wounds. "And to clean off as best we can. After that we can replenish supplies and plan."

So, the four women slunk through the woods to a small stream paralleling the road. Still silent they did their best to wash away sweat, blood, and dirt from battered uniforms and scratched armor. Success was middling at best, but Sylvia found the cold water cleansing to a degree. Washing away the stains helped put the first wash on her memory, blurring the details like water, making it just a bit more bearable.

Lynne's smiling face still haunted her mind, that would never fade entirely, the sickening price of failure and the blood bought by human treachery, but Sylvia had great practice in control and endurance, and now, as the sun rose higher, those old familiar patterns began to reassert themselves. Systematically she buried the grief and regret bit by bit, piling on layer after layer of stubborn emotional restraint. _I am not strong enough to fully bear such burdens_, Sylvia knew, she had learned that long ago. _So, I will bear what I can and force the rest away. That is all I, and perhaps any of us, can really do._

Exhaustion helped in its own way. With their labors done, the long delayed fatigue came up from behind and hit with sledgehammer force. Jessica, whose wounds had been so serious, and whose focus was straightforward, was asleep within minutes of pulling her body from the stream. She seemed eerily calm, lying propped against a scraggly pine, her blade draped across her front. Sylvia adopted a similar pose, struggling to keep her eyes open. Dimly she observed Racquel settle into a cross-legged posture, as if at prayer, and not move thereafter. Tyrin, unlike the others, did not settle down so easily, but paced warily about the streambed, turning her helmet over in her hands. The Claymore felt a spasm of concern for the human soldier, but she could not muster the sympathy or the energy then, and sleep came up to envelop her in darkness.

Whether or not Claymores dream much was never something Sylvia had been able to ask any of her comrades. For herself, she rarely had any memory of dreams, or even of having dreamed. Yet she did indeed dream, or at least experience wretched nightmares sometimes. She had expected it this day, and was not disappointed. The details blurred in the instant of awakening, heartbeat pounding in her ears, but one particular image remained. Sylvia saw Jessica's hand reach into to catch a severed head from striking the ground, only it was not Lynne's head, it was her own.

Aware almost immediately after awakening, a consequence of hard training, the Claymore first noted that it must be about noon, as she was staring up at the sun high in the sky. Then she recognized that someone was crying. Jessica and Racquel, both still clearly asleep, were easily eliminated, leaving only Tyrin, but she was not in Sylvia's immediate view.

Sylvia scrambled to her feet, jerking towards the sound. She wasn't sure exactly why, after all, comforting people was not something she was good at, but there was an inescapable pull to that sobbing. So she went.

Tryin was seated by the edge of the stream, facing into the cold rushing water. She sat cross-legged, her helmet lying idle on the ground, as did her shield, but she held the sword in her lap, passing in back and forth from one hand to the other in slow, wrenching motions.

"Which of you is it?" Tyrin asked suddenly, her voice raw, but alert. "Your footsteps all sound the same."

"It's me," Sylvia answered, knowing Tyrin could recognize her voice. "I'm sorry to intrude, but are you all right?"

"Am I alright?" Tyrin's voice was oddly bemused, but she didn't to look at Sylvia. "Tell me, would you be alright after having executed someone only a few hours ago? Someone who you knew didn't deserve to die?" Tyrin held her sword up in one hand, placing it between her and the sun. "This sword, it's always been a weapon, and I've come to except that, but not…this." She fell silent slowly.

"I regret Lynne's death too," Sylvia spoke, and she meant it. "Far more than I ever thought I would, but you are the least to blame of any in this."

"I held the sword! I cut off her head!" Tyrin's voice was raw and hoarse. "Nothing can change that!"

"She wanted you to!" Sylvia shouted back, shocking herself and the human woman, for she almost never raised her voice. Tyrin's head spun abut and she looked up to the Claymore's face. Sylvia felt the mist of tears forming, though she could not say why. "She chose you Tyrin, over any of us. You didn't have to agree, but you honored Lynne's choice. Hard as it might be, I think that was a very kind thing to do."

"And what if she had chosen you?" Tyrin asked; empty of feeling. "Would you be able to accept it?"

"To take each other's lives when it is asked is how we are trained," Sylvia answered with deep sadness, but subdued emotion. "If Lynne had asked any of us it would have been our duty, and refusal would have been impossible. We have no choice, but you did. Should not that make a difference?"

"I couldn't have refused her," Tyrin shook her head slowly. "That would have been too cruel."

"Isn't that it then?" Sylvia wondered. She was far from certain herself, but hopefully her words might help Tyrin regain some equilibrium.

"Maybe," the human soldier wiped her face and put away her sword. "I hope that's enough. I guess I'll have to find out."

Sylvia stood by silently, not wanting to disrupt things. She had little enough confidence in her ability to counsel anyone. Tyrin had always seemed so stable to her, unburdened with a Claymore's woes. _Yet,_ she realized suddenly. _She has now been wrapped up in a crisis of ours, and there's no easy way out. _

"Why did you strike Luny?" Sylvia asked. "It will go ill for you because of that. You might be somewhat safe from us, but the organization will find a way to get revenge. Besides, you've been roped into our mission, and it will be extremely dangerous."

"I just had to hit the bastard," Tyrin spat. "You're right that it was a stupid thing to do, but I just had to do it." She met Sylvia's eyes head on. "Even if I let things get out of hand, I don't regret it. I don't think I could live with myself if I hadn't struck out then."

"I see," Sylvia replied, not really understanding_. Had I done that it would have been giving in to my yoma half, but I suppose it's different for her._ She decided that it would be best to change the subject. "There is something else," and she pulled out the scrap of dirty cloth from her armor. "Do you recognize this?"

Tyrin took the fabric carefully, and turned it about in her hand. "This is an officer's insignia. Where did you get it?"

"I took it from one of the soldiers who attacked us," Sylvia explained, recalling the risk she had taken then.

"Two bars probably means a captain, and one would be a lieutenant," Tyrin explained. "That's the standard I recall. A captain would be pretty highly placed, leading a small mercenary company or a senior officer in a big one." The soldier turned the scrap around a few more times. "The image is a bit mangled…but…it must be the Black Wings."

"Black Wings?" Sylvia did not understand.

"A mercenary company, a large one," Tyrin's expression stiffened. "Maybe one hundred and fifty men all told. Tough troops, not the best, but plenty tough."

"You know these men?" Sylvia asked.

"I was never with the company myself," the soldier noted. "But I did serve alongside them, I guess maybe three years ago, in a big bandit hunting campaign." She scowled. "They weren't exactly nice people, most mercenaries aren't, but I'd have never thought they'd make this kind of deal."

"What would make them do it?" Sylvia questioned, trying to peace together the motives of human soldiers, men who must be in some ways like Tyrin, to side with yoma.

"Money," the word was immediate. "A lot of money, the kind that builds castles or cities. If you think about it," Tyrin went on. "It's not like you could work for anyone after working with yoma. Who'd trust you? So you'd want the kind of money you could retire on, give up the soldier's life after the job was done."

"Is money all that would matter?" Somehow it did not seem enough. _I might be wrong, since money means so little to us, but the risk seems too great._

"Well, I imagine whoever made the hire made some promises, like how the men would only fight Claymores who can't kill them, and showed they could keep the yoma in line, but it comes down to money in the end," Tyrin shook her head. "I've been a mercenary, most soldiers have, there's few enough permanent stations out there so everybody wanders, kind of like you Claymores, from job to job. Promises of money are the quickest way to override morals."

"You say money, but that makes little sense," a harsh voice interjected. Sylvia pun about to see Jessica standing behind them, watching. _How long?_ She wondered in shock. _How long have you been watching?_ She could to ask the single digit that, but it disturbed her.

Tyrin's face contorted, clearly angry at being silently observed as well. "Why does money make no sense?" she bit out the question.

"An awakened being is our foe," Jessica said, talking sparingly as always. "Only one such could command yoma, but they should have no more money than us."

"Does it really matter where the money came from?" Sylvia wondered aloud. "It would be easy enough to acquire a fortune, given our skills and a willingness to kill, there could be a thousand places."

"Point," Jessica acknowledged. "More importantly, Tyrin," she fixed the human warrior with a flat expression. "Are you truly with us?"

"What?" Tyrin's expression held complete incomprehension.

"You are not bound by the orders of a man in black," Jessica explained, and Sylvia, to her surprise, realized she hadn't even considered that. _Did I take her company for granted?_ She looked away in a brief wash of shame. "Your best course would be to run." The single-digit's assessment was frank, but the other Claymore could find no fault with it. _Going up against some scheme led by an awakened being is madness for a human, even one like Tyrin._

"I'm not leaving," the soldier's voice was utterly firm. "I could care less what that bastard said, but there's a death binding me to this now, and I'm not abandoning this until I see it done." Her eyes misted slightly, but that was soon buried beneath a flush of righteous anger. "Besides, you're the ones who need my help. Lynne died for that rule, but it's still hanging over your heads. It doesn't mean anything to me. If you go alone you'll all be marching to your deaths one way or another, just like Lynne did. Claymores hunt yoma! Leave the humans to their own!" Her voice rose and breath came fast and full, but there was steel behind it. Sylvia looked in admiration at Tyrin's resolve. She did not think she could match it. _We are not free to choose our battles; does that mean we lose the courage to make that choice? Please let me not be that weak._

"Very well," Jessica inclined her head to Tyrin slightly. "I am grateful, but you will have to accept my commands."

"It's not like I have the guts to try and give one of you orders, I'm not crazy you know," Tyrin smiled at last, running a hand through her hair.

"Good," the single-digit flashed the ghost of a smile of her own. "Back to town then, we need supplies."

Notes: I've made a bit of an assumption here about Claymore burial, since one has never been shown in the manga, but I feel this very simplistic bare-bones method fits them.


	14. Fourteenth Stroke: Bloody Atmosphere

Fourteenth Stroke – Bloody Atmosphere

"So how do we do this?" Sylvia asked the others as they settled down to the deserted campsite once again. She wanted to avoid triggering any bad memories in this place, so it would be best to start discussion immediately.

"I don't know," Jessica spoke simply. "I have no ideas."

"Eighteen yoma left, and about seventy-five human soldiers," Racquel listed it off. "Assuming there have been no reinforcements. All that against three of us, and one human soldier; we need some kind of plan or everything will happen the same as last time."

"Do you have one then?" Jessica asked. Sylvia could tell the single-digit was out of her depth. _We all are. None of us can plan large engagements. It's never been done before._ She turned and looked at Tyrin, who appeared thoughtful. "You've led men into combat Tyrin, could you come up with a plan?"

"My experience tops out with hunting groups of bandits," the woman shook her head. "That's what I'm best at you know. I've never led a battle; really, I've never even been in one." She scowled briefly.

"Sylvia said you had been a soldier for almost ten years," Racquel questioned, confusion on her face. "How could you never have been in a battle?"

"Battles don't happen very often," Tyrin explained expression grim and level. "Coming down hard on a group of bandits and killing as many as you can before they break and all try to escape isn't a battle. Neither's patrolling for poachers, or standing guard duty at a border checkpoint, or even ambushing a caravan. Those are all one-sided things, little skirmishes involving small numbers, where the tactics and formations break down one the first blows are struck. Real battle is a lot scarier, and a lot less common. There just aren't enough soldiers for it."

"Humans do fight wars," Jessica prompted, though it was distant. _They do_, Sylvia realized, _but we don't really understand why they do._

"That's true," Tyrin agreed. "But war isn't what most people think, until you go. I've been to 'war' once. One lord versus another lord, and we didn't form up into clean lines and charge across the fields or anything like that. No," she smiled wickedly, cruelly. "We had a whole lot more men, so we surrounded the town and they didn't come out, and then we just waited four months until they starved and gave up, and that was that. On that campaign I saw two men die of dysentery and four from consumption, and one man from something we couldn't name, but not a one from arrow, spear, or sword."

"So we have no plan," Jessica shook her head.

It did seem rather hopeless, but Sylvia did not think they should give up so easily. She thought Tyrin had greater skill than she was telling. _Perhaps she doesn't want to embarrass a superior?_ That would be something both humans and Claymores had in common. _But, we cannot go in without a plan. That would be suicide_. "Surely you at least had some training in how to plan a battle," she suggested.

"A little," Tyrin admitted.

"Do you have any ideas then?" Racquel asked, picking up on this.

"The basic principle of attack is to strike weak points," Tyrin muttered. "But, isn't the whole idea of this human and yoma alliance to eliminate weak points?"

That much was true, and Sylvia knew it, having fought this foul union three times now. The yoma covered for human lack of speed and strength, as did their use of bow and crossbow, while the human presence eliminated the lack of maneuverability and coverage that was the principle weakness of most yoma. It was a deadly tandem. _If only they were not allied_, Sylvia thought bitterly. _We could handle either group alone_. She paused, and stared down at Tyrin, disbelieving how simple it suddenly seemed. "Separate them," she whispered, barely believing, sure there must be a flaw in the idea, something obvious she simply was not seeing.

"Separate them?" Jessica looked at Sylvia. "But how?"

"Pursuit," Tyrin said suddenly, and three pairs of silver eyes turned to stare at the human woman. She met them, suddenly confident. "It's simple, you all run faster than humans, right? And so do yoma. So if we cause a commotion, and then fade away at the right pace…"

"We can turn around and defeat the yoma before the human soldiers can do anything!" Racquel finished with a smile.

"But how do we cause a commotion?" Sylvia wondered. "We can't simply march in; the result will be as before."

"We'd have to sneak in," Tyrin admitted.

"Yoma will sense us though, so how can we sneak in?" Racquel wondered.

"Yoki can be suppressed," Jessica noted simply. "This seems workable. Details?" She looked expectantly at Tyrin.

"We'd go in at night, obviously," the warrior replied smoothly, and Sylvia could tell she was letting the plan build momentum within her. "It would mean discarding armor, to conceal sound, which is a risk, but we should be able to gain the advantage of surprise. The yoma will rely on their ability to sense you, at least in the dark, they're surely lazy about it, and the human guards will have less perception at night, and won't expect people to come in over the rooftops. We get in a few strikes and then fade, and draw the foe out. It should be easy, especially as they're all probably gathered in the center square like you said. It's not a plan without risks," Tyrin admitted, shaking her head. "But I like it, and besides, they just won a battle with you, we should take advantage and counter now. For their sake and ours." She said the last quietly, but Sylvia nodded, understanding. Her body itched with the urge to strike, to lash out in vengeful blows and make these treacherous men and yoma pay for the loss of Lynne.

"Objections?" Jessica asked in a tone making it clear she had none.

"It seems reasonable," Sylvia offered. She did not fully like the idea of taking this risk, but could think of nothing better.

"I think we should do this," Racquel spoke smoothly, ready and easy.

"Then we will rest now, and strike late at night," Jessica ordered, and proceeded to curl up promptly and dive into sleep. Sylvia suspected the single digit might not yet be a full strength, given her wounds, so rest was essential.

"You all fall asleep so easily," Tyrin shook her head as Sylvia lay down against a fallen log. "How do you do it?"

"We have greater control over our bodies than you," Sylvia explained delicately. "And we are used to forcing ourselves to do things."

"Oh, right," Tyrin nodded. "Well, I wish I could get to sleep so easily, I mean, I thought I was good at it, being a soldier and all, but you put me to shame. Anyway, no need to keep talking."

Silently Sylvia wondered if she should have explained that a half-human half-yoma could fall asleep under any circumstances in part because they were all forced to learn to sleep even while their bodies twisted in the pain of transformation. _No_, she decided. _Tyrin need not know that, there's no reason to say it unless she asks_. _It would be a needless burden._

"How far?" Tyrin whispered in Sylvia's ear.

"One more jump, keep a hold," the Claymore whispered back, her voice as low as possible.

The human warrior tightened her grip on the Claymore's shoulder, preparing for another building-to-building leap. Tyrin could not make the jumps on her own, and needed Sylvia's help to drag her through the air.

Already the Claymore could here the low muttering of the soldier's voices. Some of them might even be the voices of yoma, as with her yoki suppressed all the way she could not properly tell. Some were close by, and others further, gathered around a few low fires left burning in the night.

"I'll attack first then," Tyrin reminded her, reconfirming what they had decided in the final planning. They'd hit a single group of men around the fire, and let the human warrior make the most of the surprise, since she was the only one allowed to take life.

Sylvia nodded, trying to maintain composure, but struggling. This was so unusual, she felt nervous. Not wearing armor didn't help. As impractical as their limited defenses might be, it provided a comforting solidity going into battle. Without it every sensation was slightly modified, it was taking some work to adjust to.

"Now," she heard Jessica whisper from her right side.

Sylvia gathered her strength, still maintaining the suppression of her yoki, and leapt.

They landed softly on the final thatch roof, causing only a slight rustle, barely audible.

Immediately Tyrin detached herself from Sylvia's grip and slid forward, diving to the ground as her sword came free.

The human warrior hit with an audible crunch, striking the hardened earth with force, but not wasting any time. Knees flexing she moved forward. "Die scum," she hissed as she plunged her blade into the first man, barely opening his eyes in time to realize what was going on.

"Wha-" some voice managed aimlessly, but Tyrin kept moving, smashing aside the arm of a man nervously trying to block, and slashing him open. She continued on, ruthless, ducking down under a desperate dagger slash and spinning to slam the man in the head with her shield, producing a hideous ringing sound. Another had found his sword and came on, but Tyrin blocked, sidestepped, and ran him through. Her white underclothes flashed in the flickering light, an angel of death moving among the panicked men.

Belatedly Sylvia recalled that she should join the effort, and drooped down into the chaos. Men were screaming and panicked shouts filled the air, coupled to the animal grunts of yoma awakened in confusion. Silver eyes fastened on a group of men and Sylvia advanced, whipping her blade from side to side, going for low attacks, crouching her body down and striking the knees, shattering joints to remove these men from the fighting while not endangering their lives. It was the only safe strike with a weapon the size of her sword. Attacking the shoulder could send bone shards into the lung, and death might result.

Racquel descended from above as well, spinning above in graceful motion, fluid silver in the light of flame and stars. The young Claymore moved fully in three dimensions, balancing on her hand to land brutal kicks as she swirled through those before her, never slowly her dance. Jessica, opposite the other warriors, opted for Sylvia's brutish approach, down low beneath the fists of powerful men, who nevertheless could not match this onslaught.

It all only lasted a few seconds.

"It's an attack! Form up! Form up you fools!" a powerful voice broke through the air, a voice familiar to Sylvia, the officer who had led the ambush on them before. "You stinking yoma, do your job!"

"Go!" Jessica intoned, shouting just as loud to be heard.

Sylvia stopped suppressing her yoki immediately, and she could suddenly feel the ocean of residue from the yoma, as well as the beasts themselves, charging forward in anger and hunger. She spun about, clearing the space around her, ready to jump back to the buildings before the humans could use their crossbows, already audible as they cranked into place.

Looking around she saw Tyrin struggling with another man, he had locked her sword away, and seemed to be pressing an advantage, but a second later and Sylvia noticed it was a trick, and the woman soldier twisted about and struck from the side, running him through from behind.

"Tyrin!" the Claymore called out to the other woman, knowing what had to happen.

"Right!" Tyrin sheathed her sword, ducking aside a hasty blow, and reached out to grab Sylvia's arm. The Claymore grasped just past the wrist, and Tyrin did likewise, gripping firmly.

Sylvia leapt only a second or so ahead of the first crossbow bolt. "Run!" she heard Racquel yell, partly for them, and partly for the benefit of the yoma. This would only work if the pursuit occurred; otherwise it was so much bloody waste.

Moments later, their success was clear. "They're coming," Sylvia said, but for Tyrin's benefit alone. The others could surely tell, for yoma, enraged, held nothing back.

"Good," Tyrin breathed, clearly tired, and struggling to keep her feet under her as Sylvia pulled her along, running as fast as half-human half-yoma legs could sprint.

A moment later though, thoughts glancing back to the yoma behind, Sylvia realized something was wrong. _There aren't enough! Eighteen, there should be eighteen, but I sense less! _"Jessica!" she shouted suddenly. "There's another-."

It was too late, even as she spoke yoki flared and Sylvia could see the quartet of yoma who appeared blocking the way, standing on the final boundary of the village, having hidden at the edge of the fields. It must have been a trap by the human commander, a surprising act of cunning by that man, for yoma would never chose this alone.

"Sylvia, Racquel," Jessica's voice was clear and strong. "Jump!"

It was a stern command, and out of habit, both Claymores obeyed, gathering yoki-enhanced power in their legs and hurling their bodies into the air.

At that moment, Jessica slid in behind the other two warriors, slamming out her hands, propelling them further upward and forward with her own immense power.

_Is this how a bird feels?_ Sylvia wondered incredulously as she flew tumbling through the air, Tyrin clinging to her arm. _Or a bat? No, it's not that_, she realized in a slowly drawing mixture of fascination and horror. _This is the feeling of an arrow shot from a bow._

Despite the height of the arc, which launched them both far beyond the reach of yoma claws, the ground came on startlingly fast. _Tyrin!_ Sylvia realized. _She can't sustain the impact. _Twisting her hands Sylvia let go of her sword and grabbed the human woman by the shoulders, clenching her in close so her own body would take all the force of the fall.

It hurt.

They slammed into the ground, and slid, striking rough stones and grit. Sylvia felt pain everywhere on the side that hit, the scraping and smashing damage. It would have smashed many bones if she had not been a half-human half-yoma, and blessed with their extraordinary toughness. Even so, she was disoriented, and her head rang terribly.

"Ugh," Tyrin murmured, rolling slowly off Sylvia's body when they stopped moving. "I think I know how a goose feels at the end of a hunt." Her body shook roughly. "Shit!" the warrior gasped as she turned her head.

Sylvia, vision blurry, turned to look back, and saw what had so disturbed Tyrin.

Jessica stood in the road, surrounded by a complete ring of yoma, all eighteen of them.

"Hahahaha!" the yoma laughed in unison, predatory and wretched. "You think that helps you little Claymore?" they mocked. "We've got you now, there's no escape if we all attack at once!"

"Really?" Jessica grasped her sword with both hands, low to the right side, and shifted her left foot forward, her knee half bent in front of the other.

"We'll kill you!" the yoma charged.

The yoma closed, and the number eight warrior of the organization waited, and then, at the last possible moment, moved.

Her foot slid back, inward, and her sword came around, supported not just by the arms, but by the whole body.

The air rippled, and Jessica spun, the sound of steel on flesh and bone could be heard, and blood, the dark purple blood of yoma, spilled out from the mass. The yoma shifted, twisting, moving, but the blade came on, reaping through them as it moved onward, harvesting limbs like stalks of wheat.

"Whirling…Jessica," Sylvia breathed. "I wondered what the name meant," she whispered as her vision cleared, recalling the appellation she had heard for the number eight long ago. "So it was this, a technique that generates tremendous force by spinning, but uses incredible control over the legs to direct it in any direction. It's perfect for large groups of enemies."

The last two yoma tried to flee, only to have Jessica stop her whirlwind attack and streak behind them. Two quick strokes and it was done.

"Eighteen yoma in a matter of seconds," Racquel's voice was filled with awe. "So that's a single digit's power."

"Report," Jessica demanded as she turned back to the others, stained with remarkably little blood, her rapid motions having driven it all away from her body.

"Ready," Racquel answered.

"I'm alright," Sylvia managed, standing somewhat unsteadily. "Just bruised and dizzy."

"I had not realized what would happen beforehand," Jessica managed as a partial apology. "But we must keep going."

"Of course," Sylvia shook her head, clearing her vision slowly. "I'll manage."

"We must break these humans, make them run," Jessica announced. "Tyrin, I'm going to say you'll kill the wounded."

"But-"

"Just to make them panic," the single digit spoke levelly. "The more who run the better."

"We must capture one of the officers," Sylvia managed to recall through her still foggy mind. "So we can question him."

"You and Racquel, find an opening."

"Right," the young Claymore spoke for them both.

"Let's go," Jessica advanced.

The marched forward, strangely silent as none wore armor, but four swords shone naked in the night, ready to strike, and to finish to drive to flight those who had previously done the driving.

"Form up you fools, take your positions!" the officers shouted commands over the din, trying to organize things.

As the soldiers came into view, a group of men packed into tight lines, bristling with spears and crossbows, Jessica stood firm. "Flee now!" she ordered. "Stand against us and you side with yoma, and shall die! All those who are wounded shall be killed!"

"See, that one's human…they'll kill us…she already killed…how can we stop them…" the murmurs grew loudly in the dark.

"Stand fast!" the lead officer ordered. "We still have numbers, don't fear! We'll beat them!"

Jessica said nothing more, but simply surged into an attack.

Crossbow strings snapped, and the deadly bolts took flight.

_Foolish_, Sylvia noted, even still somewhat foggy and slowed it was easy to extend the flat of her sword and block all the incoming missiles. Without yoma claws to fear she could twist however was necessary to streak between and knock away. Even extending her defense to cover Tyrin was easy enough.

Jessica slammed into the line of spears, cracking and breaking weapons with ease, and hurling bodies aside. Racquel seemed to slide through the air, stepping lightly over the outer ring to drop in amongst the others and lay about her with the flat of her blade. Sylvia followed in, though her actions were different. She fought back-to-back with Tyrin, striking out to smash knees and knock bodies aside as the human soldier engaged in something far more lethal.

Thankfully, the requirements of combat kept Sylvia from dwelling on that.

The melee degenerated swiftly, as men, fearing for limbs and lives, first shuffled away from the reach of swords, and then, when it became clear that such half-hearted measures would not suffice, began to drop their weapons and run. A cacophony of noise filled the air, as some men shouted for order, and other screamed in pain, weapons screamed and howled, wood cracked and metal buckled.

Blood stink, metallic and oddly mixed with human and yoma together, filled the air, but the battle, if it deserved that name, was already over. No one truly stood against the women now, as men fled out into the darkness, or hauled wounded bodies into some dark corner, barely defending themselves.

Sylvia's eyes had never completely lost track of the officer, the man with his badge, so she knew when he tried to run. "Tyrin, cover yourself, I have to move," she shouted quickly to the soldier, and then burst through the remnant of the Black Wings' formation, blocking a few ineffectual attacks. Her vision partially tunneled in the storm of combat, her objective was clear.

A few long strides were sufficient to catch up with the man, who had been among the last to flee. He was no coward, drawing a sword and turning to face Sylvia, but he had no chance. The man was surely a good fighter, but his method was useless against a Claymore. He attacked straight-up, a simple down cut, solid, and backed by powerful strength. Sylvia met it with strength he could not match, and, lacking the speedy technique of Tyrin's method, he was trapped in the move as she smashed his sword free from his grasp.

Letting go of her swordhilt with one hand Sylvia grabbed the mercenary captain and flung him to the ground. "Don't struggle," Sylvia said evenly, surprisingly not angry anymore, but still disgusted at these people. "Cutting off a leg would be no trouble at all, and wouldn't mean killing you."

Slowly the screams died down, and the thud of booted footsteps was lost in the distance. Low moans could be heard from many places still, men crippled and maimed struggling to retain any focus. Jessica walked up beside Sylvia, and then Racquel, Tyrin coming last. The human warrior was drenched in the gore of battle, and appeared terribly fearsome, but Sylvia thought her eyes were sad. _She didn't like this either_, it heartened the Claymore to realize that. _She too knows that this should never have happened._

"Racquel, treat the wounded, enough to let them live," Jessica ordered.

"I can as well if it is necessary," Sylvia offered.

"No, I want you to aid in the questioning," the single digit ordered.

_Does she value my experience then?_ Sylvia wondered. _With this crisis, or just because of my age?_ Tyrin's inclusion was obvious, the human soldier had greater insight into human affairs, and, much as she might resist the label, she was the only real commander among them. _We are not trained in how to lead, and even the single digits have little skill in that area. Tyrin probably has more experience than anyone in the organization. _It was yet another reason, Sylvia realized, that they were so threatened by this alliance. The human mercenary commanders were better planners than they were.

"Why should I tell you silver-eyed witches anything?" the mercenary's voice was laced with bitterness.

"Can't a mercenary be bought out?" Jessica asked, but she addressed the question to Tyrin.

The woman opened her mouth to answer, but the man on the ground interrupted.

"I may fight for money, but I won't turn coat on a contract!" his voice was laced with contempt.

"Even a contract with a yoma?" Sylvia blurted, before she could stop herself.

"Don't get high and mighty with me, demon spawn," he spat at Sylvia's feet. "I've taken contracts from men who'd feed their mother to dogs, what's so different about taking money from something that preys on men for food?"

"Maybe, but you'd still turn coat for the right price," Tyrin sneered. "We all would, there's no human who can't be bought for something."

"Your organization's gold won't buy me!" he shouted, strong in desperate conviction. "You and the yoma can all kill each other for all I care!"

The mercenary's hatred directed everywhere but still at them, struck Sylvia deep. _Why must people despise us so?_ She could not really understand. _We suffer too!_ She wanted to shout at him. _This life is not pleasant, it is short, brutal, and void of friendship, or that unknowable thing you call love._ She looked at Tyrin, unable to face this man's focused rage. There was no hate there, and Sylvia believed that she even sometimes had the human woman's sympathy, but why was it so different? _Her sister? Or something else?_ Carefully, Sylvia dared to wonder if Tyrin's time with her had let her understand the half-human half-yoma better, if she had accepted them as real people. She did not think she'd ever be able to ask that question.

"I won't buy you with gold," Jessica's voice went ice cold.

"What?"

"I imagine your life is sufficient price, to tell us where the one who hired you resides," her voice never waved, staying its usual terse and even.

"You can't kill me," the mercenary scoffed. "That woman doesn't want to do it," he pointed at Tyrin. "You bluffed when you said you'd kill the wounded. I wasn't fooled."

Looking at Tyrin, Sylvia could tell the mercenary was right, her companion was not interested in spilling any more blood today, and as much as she might despise what this man had done, what all these mercenaries had done, after executing Lynne, she wasn't ready to do it again, might never be ready. _Jessica must realize it_, the Claymore knew, _so why did she say that?_

"I have little understanding of a soldier's rules," Jessica said, not timidly, but straightforward. "Yet I know that orders must be obeyed, and Tyrin is following my orders. So if I order her to kill you, she'll have to obey."

The mercenary's neck slowly twisted until he stared directly into Tyrin's gray eyes. What he saw there Sylvia didn't know, but it must have been convincing. _Perhaps_, she reasoned, _one mercenary can understand another._

"So if I tell you, you'll let me walk out of here, and the rest of my men?" he demanded.

"Yes," Jessica replied simply. "Those who can walk."

"Disappear," Sylvia told him, half cruel and half kind. "We may spare you, but the organization will have its vengeance, or your mistress will, if we fail."

He glared, but didn't back down, a brave man, whatever his weakness in judgment. "Fine, you win silver-eyed witch, I'm not ready to die tonight."

"Where?" Jessica needed only the one word. All other questions were irrelevant. Sylvia silently agreed, their enemy was too cunning, nothing else would be revealed. _Besides, we don't really need to know anything else; we'll discover the rest when we arrive._

"Argen Hill," he said slowly, bitterly.

"Sylvia, is he lying?" Jessica asked aloud, and her hand moved to the hilt of the sword.

"I don't know, where is Argen Hill?" she said, stupidly, realizing later that it was that fact that mattered the most. If she had not heard of it, it was a place far off, beyond the regions near her own ground.

"West," Tyrin explained. "A long way west," she shook her head slowly. "There's two mountain ranges in the way." When Jessica looked at her oddly she elaborated. "Three years ago, I worked up and down the Argen River, as a caravan guard."

"So far; impossible," Jessica said flatly.

"She wanted it that way," the mercenary answered. "So you'd never figure it out. It worked too, I guess." He almost dared to smile, before brutal silver eyes crushed him.

"It may be the truth," Sylvia had to admit. "Being based outside the regions they attack would confuse us, since we are generally localized. It would remain hidden until the men in black put it together."

"Tyrin?"

"I don't understand your organization," the human solider began. "But, with this kind of crazy alliance, I'd disperse everything far apart, so if bad things happened it couldn't snowball. That's what you do with questionable levies; keep them apart, so they don't all run."

"So it is possible," Jessica decided. "How long?" she asked Tyrin.

"You mean to get there?" the soldier wondered. At Jessica's curt nod she answered. "Well, a little more than a month probably, for me anyway, and so I wasn't worn down at the end. You could surely all get there faster."

"No, we must hold to your pace," Jessica returned. "You are critical to this, besides, it would exhaust us all to push past your ability extensively."

"A month then," Sylvia turned it over through her voice. "A long time, and a nasty task at the end."

"We'll begin right away," Jessica spoke flatly. "Racquel!" she called to the younger Claymore.

"What is it?" Racquel seemed remarkably clean, considering her task. Only her gloves blistered red with the stains of combat.

"Are you done?"

"Essentially," the answer was ready, collected, and Sylvia suspected had been anticipated.

"Then we're leaving, they can handle the rest themselves, incompetence is not our fault," Jessica began walking with those very words.

Sylvia couldn't shake a feeling on incompleteness in this village. Though the yoma were dead and the Black Wings dispersed, it somehow wasn't enough. _The stain remains_, she decided. _It will for a long time._ _Luny was right, we have to stop this, before it spreads any further_. As she kicked her feet into motion, following the single digit back to retrieve their armor and then to begin the long trek west, one thing was crystal clear. _It is going to be a long month. _

Chapter Notes: This took a while to do, because my time has been limited lately.


	15. Fifteenth Stroke: Disconcerting Moves

Fifteenth Stroke – Disconcerting Moves

Sylvia avoided looking at the sunset; it brought back too many feelings of blood. It wasn't all that easy to achieve this, since they were rising in elevation and heading west. Victory had dulled the pain a little, but not completely, and now they had to walk with it. She tried to focus on aspects of the journey itself, as she usually did, but it was hard. She kept seeing Lynne's face everywhere; or the contorted faces of humans in pain.

It was strange, it was not the Claymore's tendency to brood, and she usually could divest herself of the past without great difficulty. Death was not unfamiliar to her, either of humans or Claymores, but something about all this crossed ordinary boundaries. It was very grating, especially as Tyrin seemed relatively undisturbed compared to the others.

_Why is she more steady than we?_ Sylvia wondered. _She did the deed, and told me she regretted it, so what is the difference? _Following long miles of mulling she thought she might have the answer, and it was simple, if depressing. _Failure, that must be it. Tyrin was not responsible for our failure, even if she had to pay part of the price for it_. Sylvia gritted her teeth with it. _We failed, and Lynne died. I've failed before, _Sylvia was willing to admit to that much_, but no one else has ever paid for it for me_. That was the reason nothing would settle. A Claymore lived and died by her own sword. That someone else should have died because of the collective failure of the group, it was not acceptable. _Had we been better prepared, planned better, it all might have been avoided, I should have done something more_, Sylvia berated herself.

The end of the march passed on in silence, before they stopped for the day. Their campsite was nothing major, simply a hayfield by the side of the small road they were following. It had not been a particularly long day, especially for the three Claymores, marching at human pace. Somehow, though, there was little desire in Sylvia to keep moving. A month long march was hard to conceive of, but now that it had begun, everything seemed endless.

She sat on the ground, idly, not really feeling the desire to do anything. Halfhearted Sylvia scrabbled about at the base of a rock wall, picking out enough wood to build a pathetic little fire. No one was heating their meals tonight anyway, they had bought some fruit as part of their provisions before leaving on the trek, and it had to be eaten quickly enough or it would spoil.

Only when the stick clattered at the base of her feet, ringing audibly against her metal shoes, did Sylvia realize how deeply withdrawn she had become.

"You look tired," Tyrin's voice was filled with a strong twinge of exasperation. "That sure isn't fair, now is it?"

Sylvia turned to see the human warrior, devoid of armor, holding another stick. Both of the pieces of wood were, the Claymore realized slowly, about the size they usually used for practice swords.

Tyrin tossed the branch from hand to hand, and appeared to consider something. "I wonder, with you like that, is there…" she paused. "An opening!" then lunged.

Instinct took over, and the Claymore grasped the stick with a tight grip and blocked the thrust, shoving it aside.

Tyrin spun full circle, coming around for a wicked bludgeon aimed at the top of Sylvia's seated head.

The Claymore rolled backwards, kicking out to ward off the blow, and coming ot her feet swiftly.

Tyrin didn't pause, but came on, stance bleeding out furious energy. She charged again, blisteringly fast.

The Claymore blocked, dodged, and evaded, as blow after blow came on. Sylvia was confused, and only defended, not understanding, and not striking back. The defense was difficult at first, and she had to call on supernatural speed and strength to avoid the vigorous blows, more forceful than Tyrin had ever used with the practice blades before. Crack after crack between the wood split the air as they settled into a rhythm, one-sided as the human attacked her half-yoma opponent.

Sylvia's defense closed up, and soon she met the human soldier's assault with a more settled ease, only rarely having to rely on her speed to escape a sudden trick thrust or unanticipated swipe. Yet she did not attempt any real attacks, only feints and counters.

Dimly the Claymore was aware of Jessica and Racquel watching, their silent observation unnerved her. _Do I appear comical to them?_

Tyrin flashed a smile, sweat blazing on her brow. "Come on," she quipped. "You'll never win if you don't hit me!"

It wasn't exactly a jab, not really, but it irked Sylvia. _I can't win if I don't hit her, that's true, but I can't lose either, since she won't hit me. What is the point?_ The thwack of false swords against each other punctuated her thoughts. _Does she think I can't win like this, not attacking? _The Claymore thought that might be it. That Tyrin had seen something in her silence and thought her unready. _I will do my duty, and I will prove it_. Sylvia made her decision, and then waited.

Tyrin tried an aggressive series of strokes, advancing openly, hoping to pressure the Claymore. It was the kind of thing that would have forced her to go dashing backward early in their travels together, as the quickly linked techniques disrupted the more casual defenses of the Claymore, but not now. Sylvia held her ground, met blow for blow, and caught the timing. _One stroke only,_ she decided. _There!_

Scraggly branch snapped out, twisted about in the air, and skidded against the human warrior's at just the right angle, knocking it aside. The half-human half-yoma's body twisted, shifted, and snapped against the strength of muscle. The point of her stick arced in to tap Tyrin in the throat.

They both stopped at once. Tyrin smiled briefly, and then frowned. "Not exactly what I hoped for," she shook her head briefly. "But I guess it'll do."

_She was trying something, something intended to alter my emotions_, Sylvia confirmed. She refrained from asking questions, it seemed a sign of Tyrin's goodwill, and it would not be right to probe.

The soldier put down her false weapon, and then walked over to her pile of gear to pick up her real one, and her shield as well. "Would you come with me for a bit?" she asked quietly.

Similarly discarding her own weapon Sylvia wondered what it was Tyrin wanted. They never practiced with real blades; it was too dangerous, mostly for the human soldier. "Should I bring my sword?" she asked cautiously.

"No, that won't be necessary," the response was swift and certain.

"Very well," Sylvia nodded briefly, and followed, though it felt strange to walk about without her weapons when there was another person armed nearby. Not that Tyrin was going to try and stab her or anything, even if the other woman had suddenly gone mad there was nothing to fear on that account. Even unarmed she'd be able to evade almost any attack, knowing the style as she now did.

"I didn't really want the others to hear," Tyrin explained softly as they walked back down the road a distance. "I'm not sure why, they're decent enough, but, well…"

"You should not worry about it," Sylvia spoke carefully. "This is a difficult time and a difficult situation, especially for you, we must make allowances."

"Thanks, I think," Tyrin shrugged, and then turned to face Sylvia. "I think I don't need to teach you the sword anymore."

"What?" Sylvia could hardly believe it, she knew she had not mastered the short weapon to the degree Tyrin had. _I know the forms, and my technique has improved, but I surely do not yet have her practiced skill._

"You've learned how to wield the weapon, and the proper methods to do so, the rest is just constant refinement, endless hours of practice," Tyrin gave the ghost of a smile. "You won't avoid that, I know that much Sylvia. Your technique will improve to a master's level in due time. My helping you would hardly speed it up, in fact, it might make things worse, since you could become set to dealing with the method of a single opponent."

This made a certain sort of sense, though it was obvious to the Claymore that the human soldier was in part simply rephrasing what she had once been told by someone else. Nevertheless, there was an eerie puzzle to it all, for why had Tyrin brought her own broad metal blade out now then, if training was over?

"There are some things though," Tyrin continued. "That you can't learn that way. Special techniques with the sword, trick maneuvers you cannot learn easily, for they run counter to intuition. Masters develop them, learning them through countless hours of experimentation in their later years, when they have that kind of freedom. They get passed around among people who've got the skill to use them, so I know a handful."

"You want to teach me these moves?" Sylvia asked aloud.

"I think you could use them," Tyrin shrugged. "You might even be able to adapt them to your own sword somehow. Anyway, I need to do something to make it seem like we're preparing for what comes at the end of this trek, and this is what I can do."

"I see," Sylvia nodded. "But shouldn't I have a practice sword?"

"It wouldn't work," Tyrin shook her head, swift and certain. "You need the real thing for something like this. Here, I'll show you."

She turned to the end of the road, and picked out a small sampling growing there with her eyes, a clear target. The soldier turned to face the supple young tree, drawing her broad blade. The suddenly her stance shifted, and her blade moved back, appearing to vanish from Sylvia's sight. Metal boots clanged against the solid earth, and Tyrin burst forward in a streak of motion, stepping past the sapling in a sudden surge, faster than any of her normal movements.

Her sword was out extended when she stopped, and the sapling was sliced apart, its upper branches settling to the ground.

"I've seen that before," Sylvia blurted, recognizing the move Tyrin had used long ago, in the first hunt against yoma they undertook together. The moment was seared into her memory. "You called it Mist Phantom."

"That's right," Tyrin smiled brightly. "Don't ask me how it got that name, but it does bear it. It's a move that relies on speed and deception, to hit with a full power strike incredibly fast, and so they can't block. It's not a perfect move, you have to have a target held in place for an instant to use it, since to achieve the speed necessary you've got to move on a straight trajectory and time the move in advance, so if they're moving about, it'll fail."

Sylvia nodded, understanding that limitation even if she did not yet know the details of the move. Still, moments of immobilization came often in a fight, brief though they might be, especially if multiple persons were engaged.

"I chose this move for the first because it's one of the best I have, but also because I think you could use it more than some of the others," Tyrin's explanation was very sensible. "It won't be easy to learn though."

"How does it work?" Sylvia asked. "The blade appears to vanish, and only reappears as you move through your foe. I understand the burst of speed, it provides cover for the stroke, but how do you make an attack that quickly? Or hide the blade?"

"It's a trick, here, I'll show you," Tyrin took up the stance again, but this time moved not with speed, but very slowly, and so Sylvia could see.

She twisted back bringing her sword arm inward, tucked up and under the outstretched left, back behind the shield. "This is how the sword seems to vanish. You hold it in to the body, covered by the left arm and the shield. It doesn't really make the sword vanish, but the enemy will see it pass out of an effective position, unable to strike from there, so the eye, tunneled in to keep track of threats in battle, will lose it for a very short period."

That made sense, but it raised an equally grave problem, and Sylvia asked immediately. "But with the sword like that, any attack would be too slow, since you'd have to move it out from behind cover."

"That's the trick to it," Tyrin giggled slightly. "You don't move it out from behind cover, you attack from there. Watch." Carefully, making certain the Claymore could observe, Tyrin stepped forward, conducting herself in excruciating slow motion mimicry. Her sword arm moved forward and down, a simply outward crossing cut, but instead of waiting to move her left arm away, she struck into it, impacting her sword right at the border, striking the bottom of her shield.

"You hit your shield?"

"Exactly," Tyrin concurred. "And full force too, the attack doesn't stop at the shield, it simply pauses there until you hit the right spot to contact the enemy. Then you just remove the shield by pulling up." She jerked her left arm and snapped her sword forward. "The key point is that the attack never stops. It keeps going from beginning to end, there's just a tiny break in the middle for compensating the time to remove the blocking arm. It's absolutely critical that the attack not stop, otherwise the force will dissipate and you'll have to time your hit, which, done properly you aren't doing. Instead, you time your body, so that the attack lands where you know it will when the alignment is right. It's like hitting a practice dummy; you time yourself, not the attack."

"That seems…difficult," Sylvia grimaced. "And dangerous."

"It is," Tyrin agreed her voice low. "You're vulnerable when you do this, since you're putting everything into invoking absolute speed. If you don't bring the foe down, you're going to be vulnerable when the attack fails. If Mist Phantom works it's a huge success, but miss, and you're almost certain to get stabbed in the back. It's an all-or-nothing trick, like most trick maneuvers. That's why they don't get developed in combat."

"So how do you learn it then?" Sylvia questioned, recognizing that sparring and so forth would not be possible.

"Repetition," the soldier answered with a cruel smile. "Everything's in the timing for this move. So, practice, practice, practice. For now, here," she unbuckled her shield and held out the sword. Just go through the movements again and again. Once you've got those down we can stick some poles in the road and practice on those, but for now just get used to it. It'll feel weird at first, trust me."

Gingerly Sylvia grasped Tyrin's sword and shield. It felt odd to hold the weapons. She had practiced briefly with the sword before, back when they began lessons, and had held the shield to get an idea of the area it defended, but never both at once, never the complete kit of the human warrior. It felt strange to carry those weapons; a legacy not her own.

Not really certain of the value of this, but wishing to please Tyrin's intention to do something, and still eager for her own distraction, Sylvia began to move into the form for the first time, taking things very slowly.

"Wait!" Tyrin said suddenly, and then smiled sheepishly. "Just watch the force you put into okay. I mean, it's supposed to be done full force, but well, you might just break the shield if you did that."

"Why do I think that's going to make this harder?" Sylvia spoke spontaneously, almost joking, feeling suddenly lighter even though the remark highlighted their differences. She could not have explained a reason why.

"Probably," Tyrin laughed. "Now get to work."

Sylvia did, and it was incredibly frustrating. Feel weird, yes, incredibly. It felt alien, jarring, and frightfully insane all at once the first time she tried things at even a modest speed. Everything fell apart, and the Claymore ended up stumbling and falling over her own feet, tangled with the shielded arm. It was a mess. Tyrin managed to avoid laughing, but it was hard to continue, and things did not improve rapidly. Soon Sylvia suspected she was far more grateful than the human soldier for having moved away from the others. It would have been shaming to be observed by other warriors struggling so much. _Lynne would never have let it go_, she thought at one point, bringing on a storm of shame, yet mixed with resolution. _For her sake, I will master this_, Sylvia determined.

It did get better, slowly, and by the time darkness fully enveloped them she had managed to at least nick a few of the severed saplings Tyrin stuck in the road. Then, knowing they should rest, they stopped together.

"Really not bad," Tyrin muttered. "It's not simple, none of them are, or they wouldn't be trick maneuvers. I'll teach you one each night, to vary things up as we go, but you should concentrate on the ones you feel most useful. Hopefully you can master one or two by the time the month is over."

"I understand," Sylvia replied, not having much will to say more. Yet she did, Mist Phantom was awkward and complex and she doubted it would ever be used on a yoma, but there were other dangers. She had met awakened beings twice before, terrifying memories both, and now they marched toward what was surely another. In a world with such creatures as that, strange methods such as this might prove useful. At least, it helped to think so.

The others at the camp were not asleep when they returned. Jessica sat calmly, staring into the few embers of their tiny fire, expressionless, but Racquel was not so idle. The youthful Claymore was balanced upside-down, hanging with her feet high to the starry sky, full adorned by armor and sword, using only the tips of her fingers. She twisted her legs through strange contortions as she did so, extraordinarily flexible.

"What are you doing?" Tyrin blurted when she managed to close her open mouth. Sylvia felt that rude, but had to admit to her own curiosity, so the question gladdened her.

Racquel's elbows bent and she thrust upwards, flipping through the air to land with knees bent, properly upright once again, and facing them. "I figured you two were training at something, so I thought I might as well too."

"I recall no exercises of that kind," Sylvia kept her voice even. "Has the organization changed what they teach us?"

"I don't think so," Racquel shook her head. "This was something I learned from my father," even in the darkness, Sylvia could see the young warrior's expression tighten in pain. "He was an entertainer, tumbler, and juggler. It helps build flexibility."

Sylvia only nodded, but Tyrin was more forceful. "It works well for you," she told the young half-human half-yoma. "You've made it fit your style."

"Thanks," Racquel managed, clearly surprised.

"Enough," Jessica broke in. "Training is fine, but it is dark now and we should all rest."

"Right," they all replied, recognizing the implicit command.

Sylvia felt better as she settled down to sleep. It was not that the pain had gone away, but that she had managed to at least focus on something else for a while. _That is perhaps the best I can hope for, given our fate._

Notes: I have no idea whether something like Mist Phantom would actually work, given the description, in fact I suspect it probably wouldn't, but this is a fantasy so I'm not going to sweat those particulars.


	16. Sixteenth Stroke: Differing Glimpses

Sixteenth Stroke – Differing Glimpses

Three days passed and Tyrin taught Sylvia her strange and unusual sword maneuvers, the tricks and secrets passed down by master swordsmen, illogical and dangerous, but powerful in that way. She practiced the frightfully contorted motions again and again, until it seemed there was nothing else to be seen when she closed her eyes. Mastery of any still seemed far off, but so did their destination, as they moved from fertile farmlands to rougher hills used for timber and grazing, and left heavy settlement behind.

There was something comforting about this. Sylvia found the distance from human civilization pleasant given how disgusted she had recently become with humanity. Moreover, there was a stark, simple beauty to these hills; it was distracting and restorative, to her and to the others. All had been focused too deeply into themselves of late, there was some solace to be discovered looking away.

It was cold that first night, enough that Tyrin made her bed next to the glowing embers of the fire, catching that bit of extra warmth to prevent sore joints in the morning. Looking at her in the slowly deepening darkness as the light of those coals seeped away, Sylvia wondered if that was a change. _What happens come winter? Can we still travel together?_ When snow fell human soldiers, and generally all humans, stopped moving about, traveling only as necessary and locally. Claymores did not have such luxuries. Indeed, the yoma seemed to find a certain wolfish hunger in the winter, and were often more active. Sylvia did not know why, perhaps it was the absence of travelers to prey upon, or simply the numbing feeling of cold, which wore one down even if it had no impact on the body, but they attacked villages more often in snow. _So we go, and for us it makes no difference, but can Tyrin follow? _Irritated by the thought, Sylvia discarded it for the moment, seeking sleep instead. _That is far away_, she recognized,_ something to worry about after this task is ended._

Sleep, when it came, did not last long before being ever-so-carefully disrupted.

The team did not bother to set a watch, they were too few, and the senses of a half-human half-yoma, combined with the brutal training to make them all into light sleepers, meant nothing was liable to get close without jerking them all from their troubled slumbers. Yet those senses could be fooled, if you were familiar with them, and if you had very good aim with a clod of dirt, a conveniently silent projectile when it landed on a cheek.

Sylvia's eyes jerked open with the impact, and her head spun, tracking the path backwards, finding, as she had eerily anticipated somewhere before becoming conscious, the cowled figure all in black who stood outlined against the moonlight. "Luny," she whispered, ever so lightly, making certain no one could here.

The man in black motioned for her to follow him, and descended with swift but silent steps down the hillside. He did not look back or say anything until they had achieved a sufficient distance that they could talk without any risk of waking the others.

"Why only me?" Sylvia asked immediately, seizing a hopeful opening, daring to try and pry an answer from the illusive man in black. Looking at him brought a surge of anger, but she kept it tightly wound up, clenching her fists as necessary. Exploding at Luny would not accomplish anything, she understood that well.

The man in black gave a slight shrug. "I prefer to keep this simple, besides, Jessica is a singularly uninformative warrior and poor Racquel is too inexperienced. I think I will accomplish more if you tell them the essentials for me."

_Is that the truth?_ Sylvia wondered, her guard still up, as it always had been, but much sharper now after what had happened to Lynne. She was wary of any possible traps. _Did he call me because he has more practice manipulating me?_ "Why did you follow us?" she asked carefully.

"I am working to monitor this situation," Luny answered, his voice easy, even, un-tinged by any of the concern or anger from the past. "It is very dangerous after all. I have news from the organization, and further instructions, and I needed to confirm why you were traveling this way."

"So you saw the village then?" Sylvia demanded swiftly.

"Yes," the man in black nodded carefully. "That at least seemed to work out. It is somewhat encouraging. It seems that human woman will prove useful." He shook his head slightly, a rare shred of emotion. "I would never have thought so, but the testimony was clear, she did some killing for you all. Strange to think of it, I cannot recall any other human ever taking up arms for the organization. It bespeaks a change in the times, one I am uncomfortable with."

"You said you had news," Sylvia probed. "Has the organization decided to change the rules?"

"Not quite yet," Luny answered, slowly, the words slithering from his mouth. "The proposal has been made official, so it is currently a matter of debate. It may take some time, for this is not a decision to be made lightly." Suddenly, without transition, Luny's hand shot out, and pointed straight in his odd three-fingered probe, at Sylvia's face. "You do understand that, correct?"

"Yes, I do," Sylvia believed she did, rightful and sickening as it might be, she had come to recognize just what that rule meant. Foul and callous it might seem much of the time, it drew a line, a powerful line, one that cut deep into the nature of the half-human half-yoma, not something to lightly breach. "When do you think there will be a decision?"

"I am uncertain," Luny replied, cautious, and deflected the conversation. "Where are you going?"

"Argen Hill, almost a month west," Sylvia explained. "They told us that was the base when we questioned them." Saying it aloud, the link seemed very tenuous, and the Claymore wondered if they should not have done much more to determine the truth. Walking a month out of their way could destroy their efforts.

"That matches what rumor indicates, and the direction the survivors seem to have slunk off too," Luny's confirmation was surprisingly supportive, and it made Sylvia feel calm, until she recalled her suspicion of the man in black. "With it being so far," he muttered thoughtfully. "A decision will likely be reached before you get there, but word may not make it to you in time. I rather hope it doesn't."

"That is doesn't? Why not?" Sylvia felt suspicion grow and coil deep within her, and anger simmered far above that depth. "Do you want to order our deaths?" she accused blatantly.

"No!" Luny snapped back immediately, and then added in more normal tones. "Think about this Sylvia, be reasonable, you are a reasonable being, I know this. Why would I want to order your deaths? Are you a risk to the organization? Do you have a history of pushing the lines, recklessness, a high chance of awakening? None of you are like that. Jessica is a talented single digit and has always served without question or complaint." Sylvia, hearing this, was not surprised, in many ways the taciturn and quiet warrior was probably close to the men in black's ideal warrior, almost drone-like at times, a yoma-killing machine. "Racquel is young, but she has great potential," Luny continued. "She's number twenty-six for the moment, but as her experience grows she might well rise to the mid-teens." This too the Claymore accepted; for Racquel's graceful acrobatics had the potential to carry her far, assuming she survived for a while. "She's got many good years ahead of her. Even you, Sylvia, though I doubt you can hold out much longer, have no real bad marks in your record. You might lack talent, but you've been methodical and effective. I've no desire to order your death."

_He is being oddly open_, Sylvia thought, confused slightly, trying to figure out why. _Could it be_, she dared to wonder for an instant. _He actually feels something like grief over Lynne's death? Impossible_, she thought immediately after that. "Lynne was much the same," Luny concluded. "She was a bit reckless, but a capable enough warrior, and no real problems. She had good years left, losing her was not something I desired, but the rules must be obeyed. They exist for a reason, and they maintain what we have made. That is more important than any one or any few, lives."

"So," Sylvia understood the overall point eventually. "You want us to render the decision moot. You want us to defeat this awakened one and destroy this alliance without having to kill any humans. Not to save human lives, but to save the organization's structure. I think I understand that." _It makes me feel like a monster that I do_, Sylvia told herself inside. _I do not want to look at things the way he does, that is not right_. Yet she could not escape Luny's strange logic, nor did she have the right to speak against it.

"See, you are reasonable," Luny put his hands back beneath his robes, seemingly calm again. "Your understanding of the situation may prove important. This long distance trek you are undertaking will be difficult. I won't be able to meet with you on it; I need to stay on this side. I'll send word on ahead. Hopefully someone from the organization can meet the four of you on the other side and provide additional information. However, if that doesn't work, I have instructions for how to proceed."

Sylvia nodded; she had partially expected something like this ever since Luny appeared. He would not have followed them for no reason.

"When you reach Argen Hill, only attack if you think you can win," it was an absolute statement, and clear in every word. "Judge the forces arrayed against you carefully as you can, and take no great risks. Other warriors will be dispatched to the area, if necessary, wait for reinforcements. Resolving this quickly is best, but resolving it completely is far more important. Everything has to be cleaned out in one fell swoop. If you scatter the humans and kill the yoma, but the awakened one escapes, we've accomplished nothing beyond sending a dangerous foe to ground. This must be wiped out completely and absolutely, do you understand?"

"I understand," Sylvia asserted, careful. She did, after a fashion, recognize Luny's reasons. It seemed horrible that they might have to stand by and watch others die if there were too many of the foe, but there was logic to the order. _Luny plans for the long term_, Sylvia recognized, and thinking back she could see it was something of a tendency. _Are they all like this_? She wondered. Certainly the other warriors were not, the yoma half made them impulsive, quick to act, relying on predatory instinct instead of analytical reason. Even she, a more cautious one, largely because her relative weakness had forced that tendency upon her, sized up a situation for mere moments before deciding on some method to attack. _I am glad Tyrin is with us_, Sylvia noted, recognizing how the human woman's different reasoning had aided them. Still, there was another, deeper and darker question lurking behind Luny's regular plans. _Just how long-term does their thinking run, compared to our short lives? _Not a pleasant topic, but somehow, intuitively, the Claymore knew it must link to something very important, though she could not understand what that might be in this shadowy evening.

"Good," the man in black nodded once. "That's all then, walk quickly." He turned and faded away into the darkness.

Sylvia waited for a moment after Luny was gone, pondering what he had revealed. _He does not want us to be given permission to kill humans. I understand that, but I wonder if there was something else, some other reason I am missing._ She was mulling over it carefully, with little success, when she walked back to the camp.

Jessica stood waiting silently in the darkness for her, silhouetted against the moonlight, only slight differences in her profile could differentiate her from Racquel, but Sylvia knew from the first glimpse that only the single digit would have awakened and waited.

"Well?" Jessica asked, many questions forcibly compressed into a single one, laying far too much force one word, giving it a tinge of menace Sylvia knew by now was not at all intentional.

"We are to proceed to Argen Hill," she explained. "Once we get there we strike only if certain of victory, otherwise we are to wait for reinforcements."

"I see," Sylvia wondered at Jessica's simple response. She was difficult to read, even for another warrior, deliberately taciturn, and so silent. In her experience, warriors often chattered amongst themselves with surprising frequency, understanding each other in a way only half-human half-yoma could, but Jessica was different. There seemed to be no idleness to her, only a careful, cool, deliberateness. _Is she simply a very quiet person, or does she hide something? _Sylvia had not been able to decide.

"And the humans?" another compressed question, but it was not difficult to guess the meaning.

"They are debating, but no decision has been made yet," Sylvia shook her head. "Luny seemed to think it best if we could finish it without one being made, to save their reputation."

"And our lives," it was staggeringly sudden, the offhand, terse comment, but it clicked immediately in Sylvia's mind. This was what she had missed! If three warriors, and three alone, crossed the line and killed humans, even when it was permitted, they would not likely live long afterwards.

Luny had made it clear that he wanted everything about this alliance of humans and yoma to vanish into the fog of history, to be forgotten by the whole world. Keeping their mouths shut after ending it would be one thing, but if they became the only Claymores who had killed humans, it was easy to figure out what would happen. _The organization will probably find some quiet way to insure our careers end shortly._ Sylvia, after Jessica's prompt, could recognize that much with ease. It was not that she believed the organization casually had warriors killed, though the penalty for most infractions against the rules, and desertion especially, was death, but it found ways to remove problems, and to do it without raising much suspicion. She'd served enough years and heard enough stories to suspect that much. That a single digit confirmed it was more than enough.

"I suppose you are right," Sylvia answered after a long, foolish silence. "Is there anything we can do?"

"No," Jessica's reply was terse as always, but absolute. "Not kill humans. That's all. Otherwise, orders are orders."

"Should we tell Racquel, or Tyrin?" Sylvia did not know the answer, and hoped the single digit might have a good idea.

"No need," Jessica shook her head. "Something to worry about later anyway."

It occurred to Sylvia then that Jessica, who seemed in many ways to be exactly what the men in black wanted her to be with her unquestioning and silent effectiveness, did not seem to plan for the future at all. _She lives in the present, focusing on the needs of the single mission and nothing more. Is that what they want of us? No_, she realized that wasn't the correct question. _Is that really the way a half-human half-yoma should be?_ It was a question to haunt the long nights ahead, the Claymore recognized, for there would not be a swift answer.

"Rest," Jessica ordered, but without her usual harshness. "You have been improving," she said in a surprisingly open moment. "But not fast enough and we must hurry." She turned away after that.

It was a small thrill to hear the bit of praise, however couched in admonition it had been, from the single digit, from Whirling Jessica, a Claymore strong enough to have gained a title before her name, but the warning was real too. _We're heading into something very dangerous_; Sylvia could see it all the more now having recognized the differences in how they planned. The awakened being we face was not like most of them, she, and she knew it had to be a female warrior, a male would not have been familiar enough with the rules of the present day, is someone who plans, who looked ahead far enough to outwit the men in black. _That means we are very, very far behind_.

It was a cold, terrifying thought, and sleep did not come soon.

Author's Notes: I've had little time to work on this of late, so progress has been very irregular, unfortunately.


	17. Seventeenth Stroke: Deep Stitching

Seventeenth Stroke – Deep Stitching

The last stage of the journey to Argen Hill passed through the Red Mountains, a gritty and worn range of peaks that was not difficult to traverse, but was wild and unsettled. The trail they took was poorly maintained, with treacherous footing and many missing bridges. All four ended up soaked at the end of the day, huddling around a crackling fire on a lonely saddle until dry in the evening. They were quiet and spared little extra effort, sparring and training only the most minimally, knowing a few more hard days were to come, but that the journey was hopefully almost over. Being honest with herself Sylvia could hardly look forward to what would come when they reached their destination, but she was truly tired of the long treks through empty country in a way she had not expected to become. Unable to trace a precise cause, she suspected there was simply too much deviation from her long established routine of life.

When dawn came the journey was no longer uninterrupted.

_Yoki!_ Sylvia could feel it as she jerked awake, responding as her instincts and training had made her do. _Close!_ She realized in sudden alarm. _Too close! How?_

The answer emerged an instant later, when her mind cleared fully and she recognized the direction from whence this disturbance came.

"Above!" Sylvia's voice joined Racquel's in the same moment, running over each other and blurring the word. "Flying yoma!"

They came from the east, five in number, descending in low, using the sun in an attempt to obscure their silhouettes. It was a reasonable maneuver, but useless against silver eyes.

Jessica said nothing, but was already moving ahead of the other two Claymores, her sword held in both hands, wide to her body. She accelerated to speed, then planted her right foot forward and leapt spinning into the air.

Shooting forth as a bolt from some giant's crossbow, Jessica caught the yoma completely by surprise, and her sword, whistling great low warbles in the air as it spun about, sliced two of the winged monsters shear in two as she blasted by.

The yoma screamed, but came on; Sylvia supposed they realized retreating would do little good at this point. Unarmored, but with sword in hand, she advanced to meet them. _How will they move?_

The three attackers split off, coming about from different angles, using their movement to maximum advantage.

Racquel countered by dashing forward, leaping up onto a tree branch and then through the air, cutting up from below and flipping herself about in midair as she did so. The yoma tried to glide in beneath her blade, by the graceful young warrior's movements guided it to fly directly into that lethal edge.

Sylvia stood forth herself, moving into a position in front of one of the remaining yoma, her sword held forth to intercept. _He will try to dodge by my attack and swipe my back in passing_, she knew, it was how winged yoma usually behaved. She also knew a simple and effective counter.

The yoma came in screaming; howling wordless outcries of rage, and Sylvia moved to meet it. Wings snapped, catching the air, pulling the yoma to the side, attempting to pull outside Sylvia's swordstroke.

The Claymore moved, but not away, instead she stepped inward, moving toward the yoma, holding her sword forward only slightly, not striking out. The result was that the two slammed into each other.

The slammed to the ground bitterly hard and Sylvia's blade lodged deep in yoma flesh. Blood poured down on her and the monster howled in pain, but it was not yet dead. Still, the second step was already in motion, as the Claymore held fast to her blade and twisted, exerting her half-human half-yoma strength to rip it free, taking a huge chunk of foul flesh with it.

Grunting the yoma twitched and died.

Only then did Sylvia realize they had not handled the fifth.

"Tyrin!" she cried in sudden panic, and looked out through a bloody haze to see the final yoma come in to attack the soldier.

The human woman had responded rapidly to the first cry of yoma, but though she moved quickly she had not the instant readiness of a Claymore. Far more serious, as Sylvia realized with true dread, having been suddenly awakened from sleep, Tyrin was not wearing her armor. Normally a few second exchange with a yoma was something Sylvia would not have hesitated to trust Tyrin with, but without that defensive metal skin, she felt a strange, unfamiliar terror.

Her legs churned to reach the other woman, but Sylvia knew she would not be in time.

It seemed to unfold in slow motion. The yoma streaked in from slightly above, arms outstretched, seeking flesh. Tyrin, holding sword and shield, turned and blocked, sidestepping to deflect the opening attacks. Their force blunted the aerial assault slammed aside. Yet this was not enough to finish the yoma's attack. The creature's left hand jerked out and its clawed fingers burst to many times their length, stabbing at Tyrin.

The attack was weak, having little force. It would never have penetrated plate steel. Human flesh had not that resistance.

Tyrin twisted, moving her body away as best she could, but three barbed fingers still pierced her left arm near the shoulder.

The soldier's cry of pain, bit off quickly, filled the mountain air.

Something deep in Sylvia roiled and twisted; a fearsome, hideous agony she simply did not recognize. In an instant it was there, and then gone, buried beneath a storm of rage. Yoki poured through her, far more than she would commonly release; fifty-percent of her limit perhaps. Her body shifted, stretching and contorting with the surge of power.

It seemed a single step and she was there, before the yoma, the monster having spun about for another pass. Yellow world, filled with blood and a predator focus, captured a look of shock on the creature's face.

The yoma's hand lashed out, trying to scrape at her face. She caught the gnarled wrist with her left hand and jerked, snapping bones. "Die!" she hissed, voice low, almost unrecognizable. Her sword surged forward, slashing through the yoma's other arm as it flailed in desperate attack, and continuing on upwards to find the heart.

As the light left the yoma's eyes Sylvia felt herself deflate, and was left with a horrible hollow feeling. Reacting out of reflex alone she slammed down her emotional vise over her yoki, forcing her body to return to normal immediately. Only then did she turn back to Tyrin.

The woman lay kneeling on the ground, pressing her right hand back over her shoulder, pushing down on a mess of blood there. She was not looking at Sylvia, something the Claymore took a shameful relief in before her swell of concern drowned everything out. "Tyrin!" Sylvia moved to the woman's side. "How serious is it?" Sylvia recognized belatedly that she had very little familiarity with human injuries. It was one thing to recognize wounds in a half-human half-yoma, to know what was lethal, what healed quickly, and what took time, and completely another to deal with a human who lacked their restorative powers. Most of the time there was nothing left of a person attacked by a yoma, so there was little chance to deal with wounded humans.

"I've had worse," the soldier managed, sucking in breaths heavily. "But I can't reach, dammit!" Her eyes turned desperately around to the three long gashes on the backside of her arm and shoulder.

"What?" Sylvia did not understand.

"She can't treat it herself," Jessica's voice came suddenly from Sylvia's left side. The single digit looked down at the human woman. "You have thread. Where?"

"My bag," Tyrin grunted. "Under the biscuits."

Sylvia didn't understand what was meant by this, and looking at Racquel, who had also come up and bore a worried expression, neither did the youthful warrior.

Jessica tore through the small kit Tyrin carried, and emerged with a small, flat packet. She pulled an unburned end of a narrow branch out of the fire and moved over to Tyrin.

The human warrior gave the single digit a somewhat concerned look. "You know what you're doing right?"

"Yes," it was a brisk response. "Bite this," She handed the stick to Tyrin.

The soldier nodded, and shoved the stick between her teeth.

"Sylvia, I want you to sit on her legs, Racquel, hold her left shoulder, the body must be kept steady." Jessica didn't wait for any questions but just moved down behind Tyrin. She pulled a needle from the packet, and quickly tied a slender black thread to it. Finally, Sylvia realized what was going to happen, vaguely recalling at last.

Carefully Jessica cleared away the blood, which was now flowing very slowly. Then she took the needle, and began to sew the wounds shut.

Tyrin gritted her teeth, and closed her eyes, but she did not jerk or scream against those holding her down. It was obvious she had been through this before.

Jessica's hands moved quickly and surely, going faster and without hesitation as she continued on. She did indeed know what she was doing, but Sylvia had no idea where the single digit could possibly have learned such a skill.

Soon the gashes were tied closed and the process was done, the tight, delicate stitches holding together wounded human flesh. It was an odd thing for Sylvia to see, and she realized with some surprise that she had not seen Tyrin take any serious wound in their whole time together previously. The woman's armor usually protected her from glancing blows, and she was skilled enough to avoid most serious attacks, at least in her extremely brief engagements with yoma. It pained and worried her to see the woman take a wound, and she reflected dourly on what might have been had Jessica not been here.

"A few days, and I'll take them out again," Jessica informed Tyrin, though the soldier's expression made it clear she already knew.

"My thanks," Tyrin said, and it was clear she truly meant it.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Racquel asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

"Two years ago, in a two, after a yoma attack, a priest drafted me to help the wounded," Jessica's answer was empty of emotion, as was her habit, and left Sylvia suspecting there was more to the story. _Nevertheless, it is her right to say only what she will_, she knew.

"Should we get moving?" Tyrin questioned, propping herself upright with a grimace. "I mean, there could be more."

"There is no yoki nearby," Jessica said reflexively. "And if humans were going to join an attack, they've missed their chance."

"I don't think this was our enemy," Sylvia commented. "More likely a random attack, a group of yoma who attack travelers in these mountains. There are few enough people passing through here, but perhaps enough to sustain a group of yoma without attracting notice, especially if they make these aerial attacks."

"So what do we do now?" Racquel asked.

"Stay here today," Jessica decided immediately. "You need rest," she motioned to Tyrin. "We can move on at night, we should switch to that anyway, we are getting close."

"I'm okay to walk," Tyrin insisted, some vehemence behind her words. "It's not a bad wound; really, it'll just make it hard to hold the shield for a few days."

"You can't push yourself though," Sylvia interjected, feeling worried in spite of the soldier's confidence. "We're going to need your strength when we arrive."

"Rest now," Jessica ordered. "A day now should make more difference later. We can find something better than usual for a meal tonight."

Tyrin grumbled slightly, but did not maintain an argument in the face of three pairs of silver eyes. She seemed tired anyway, and soon curled herself back up by the embers of last night's fire and was asleep again.

Sylvia spent some time adding wood to the fire and adjusting it so it would shed heat and burn slowly, as Tyrin had taught her, hoping to ease the woman's rest.

Jessica sent Racquel off to find some game, not an easy task in these rugged mountains, and then sat in silence, looking out toward the sky.

_Does she consider this a failure?_ Sylvia wondered. It did leave a sour taste in her mouth, having been ambushed like this by winged yoma. Yet Sylvia had to consider the very attack a foolish mistake on the part of the yoma. Their foes had clearly not taken the time to look at them carefully, or five yoma would never have ambushed three warriors, that was suicide. The whole thing was simply foul luck. Still, there was some pride to be taken in killing the yoma, though they wouldn't be paid for it, which was always strange.

At length, gathering her resolve, Sylvia approached the silent single digit. "That thing you did to Tyrin, the sewing, I want you to teach me."

"I see," as usual, Jessica's response had many layers. "Very well." She stood and walked back over to Tyrin's kit, where she had kept the thread. "It is not complicated."

Slowly, using the fabric of her own uniform as an example, Jessica explained, using few words and many examples. It was indeed not particularly complicated, Sylvia already knew how to sew, at least the basics, and the difference between flesh and fabric was not so fine, it simply required precision, something no half-human half-yoma lacked. After a while of repeating things over and over, and putting a number of tiny holes in her sleeve, Sylvia believed she had a decent grasp of this skill. _I won't know until the time comes to use it though, a time I hope never comes._

"It's very strange, how easily we forget how fragile humans really are," Sylvia observed at one point, thinking she might try to engage Jessica in conversation.

"Don't think I can't tell when people are trying to make me talk," Jessica responded wryly, snapping Sylvia's head around to catch a sly smile on the single digit's face.

"I'm sorry," Sylvia muttered immediately, feeling a surge of shame at trying to probe the other warrior's feelings. "I hope you will forgive my excessive inquisitiveness."

"You are good with words," Jessica replied easily enough, containing her temper. "I'm not. That's all."

Even-handed as it was, Sylvia felt that the short conversation was over, and resigned herself once again to Jessica's silence. _Such a shame really, I wish you'd tell me something, anything._ She genuinely liked hearing the stories of other warriors, harsh though they usually were. Somehow, it made her feel less isolated, and it enlivened this endless journey. Most others seemed to feel the same way, but on the long march she had long since exhausted Racquel's limited list of experiences, and there was little that needed to be said between her and Tyrin anymore. At least, little that could be said, for there remained a gulf between half-human half-yoma and ordinary human.

The rest of the day passed simply. Racquel returned with a rabbit, much the worse for wear for having been all but split in half when struck with her sword. There followed several unfortunate attempts by Sylvia and the younger Claymore to figure out how to cook the poor animal properly, something they were not used to at all.

"That smells awful," Tyrin muttered sleepily, coming awake slowly to the embarrassment of the three warriors, for even Jessica clearly had no idea how to handle the matter. The soldier turned bleary eyes toward the smoky fire. "What are you trying to do…" then she started laughing lightly, and managed to pull herself upright without a wince.

Sylvia felt coldly embarrassed, and turned away.

"It's alright," Tyrin tugged her back around, smiling slightly, looking happier than she had in days, never mind her injuries. "I appreciate the effort, but I got gashed not stabbed, and I seem to recall that I was the one who agreed to do the cooking on this journey."

Feeling better, but unable to share the soldier's bright mood, Sylvia simply nodded, and shuffled back a bit, allowing Tyrin to bend over the fire. Precisely how she managed to salvage something out of the meal was a mystery to Sylvia, who had long since recognized that appreciation of food was completely wasted on half-human half-yoma who measure a week's meals in mouthfuls, but it seemed to be a success. The human woman looked much better afterwards and seemed surprisingly animated after her long nap. She ended up telling a story, at Racquels' request, of one of the previous time's she'd being wounded, making light of very serious injuries.

Hearing this was hard for Sylvia, who found she truly disliked the idea of Tyrin being hurt. It was strange, because she knew well that she would make little of her own injuries, and there had been some bad ones even by Claymore standards, just as quickly. _Yet, it is not the same_, she found herself thinking silently. _If I die, then I die, and another takes my place. Our lives aren't shortened by more than a handful of years anyway. Tyrin, if you die, so much is lost. _Sylvia recognized this with deep sadness, and a cold, frightful thought ran through her that traveling with the soldier was likely to shorten her life substantially. Tyrin was young; she could yet marry, have children, and live to some ripe old age instructing young men in the sword. It would be so much to lose. A half-human half-yoma life seemed like nothing by comparison.

These dark thoughts accompanied Sylvia until night fell, and Jessica ordered them to break camp as the moon rose. The brisk mountain air moved with them as they shuffled along, moving at a slower pace than normal, set by the silent single-digit. It was clear she was being careful of Tyrin's injured state, but no one said anything.

Only once during the march did anyone speak. Tyrin slid over just behind Sylvia on the narrow trail of the pass and whispered a few words. "Thanks for saving me this morning, it looked like it hurt you a lot more than this gash, so I'll remember it."

She said nothing more, but the shock of the words sent Sylvia stumbling for a moment, only instinctively managing to recover her balance before taking a nasty spill. She walked on practically dazed for some breaths after, as the fearful significance of it all sunk into her. _She saved me when we met_, the Claymore remembered, _but I had yet to save her_. Tyrin had indeed held her own in all previous encounters they had together, and though Sylvia had protected the soldier as best she could, but she had not done anything that might be described as saving her life. Now that had happened, and Tyrin had made none of the frightful apologies and promises humans always made to half-human half-yoma who saved them. There was none of the stammering, the praying, all those things meant to keep the terrible silver-eyed savior as far away as possible. _She does not mind_, Sylvia could hardly believe it. _She truly does not hate owing me this!_

It spun about over and over in the cool moonlight, staining all the barren peaks silver. Casting her eyes to those lonely mountaintops Sylvia wondered. _Do I have a friend at last?_

She could not find an answer, but sadness and joy fought in her and neither won out.


	18. Eighteenth Stroke: Chilling Approach

Eighteenth Stroke – Chilling Approach

"So that's Argen Hill then?" Racquel was the first of them to speak, breaking the long moment of strangely melancholy silence.

"Yes," Jessica answered succinctly, with a touch of grimace that summed up all their feelings.

_It certainly is the right place_, Sylvia thought with a brisk shake of her head, looking at the town from the still large difference of a hilltop across the river. _Knowing what we know it would be hard to mistake._

Crows circled above the heart of the town, sitting high and walled above the riverbank, looking out over forests that stretched off upstream and farmland down in the opposite direction. Battered buildings and scorch marks remained below the crows, the blasted remnant of what was once a prosperous trading site. Even silver eyes could make out no real detail at that distance, but Sylvia felt she could almost smell the charnel house atmosphere. The yoma were up there, she knew that. It was clear they had destroyed the town.

The riverside was more serene, yet far more bilious. There, amongst what had once been the docks and machinery of shipping, lay a neat circle of tents, firepits, and other laid out material. It was the camp of the Black Wings, the mercenaries who had decided to side with flesh-eating monsters for gold and a chance to kill silver-eyed witches. Sylvia still did not understand how they could do that, not deep in her where human heart warred with yoki, and she was glad she did not.

"It seems so obvious," Racquel whispered. "Why hasn't the organization received a request?"

Sylvia had puzzled over that herself, but she had determined the answer, so she spoke. "It's because of the humans. It looks like yoma to us, but to other people, it just looks like the mercenaries invested the town, and chose to be messy about it."

"Yes," Tyrin nodded sadly. "That was a smart move too, since it means that other nearby towns and lords will mobilize their own men, expecting a threat, so they can spare no funds to deal with yoma now. This whole region might be on the verge of war."

"In war, the awakened one will slip away," Jessica finished, completing for them all what immediately became clear must be their foe's true plan. Disappear in the chaos of war and then repeat the cycle somewhere else, with human and yoma tandems spread across the continent, destroying the organizations way of doing things forever. Sylvia could see from that outcrop that Luny had indeed been correct; this must all be buried as if it had never been.

"However, they also made a mistake," Tyrin remarked with a sly expression.

"Mistake?" Sylvia asked the soldier.

"They should have all camped together," she explained. "Mercenaries and yoma, but I imagine they couldn't stand it. Now they're separated, so they're vulnerable."

The three Claymores turned to look at it again, trying to see what the human soldier saw. Sylvia, after a long moment, recognized the truth of Tyrin's words. The town proper was positioned well above the riverside, doubtless to protect from flood and disease, with the docks a not insignificant distance away. "They cannot fight together immediately," she spoke, whispering not for fear of being overheard, but because she was not sure she dared believe it. "If we can sneak across and fall upon the Black Wings, there will be no yoma to aid them."

"It won't be for long though," Racquel shook her head. "Yoma can run downhill almost as fast as we can."

"A count of two hundred at most," Jessica assessed. "One hundred fifty at the least. Not much time."

Tyrin looked across the river, massaging her left arm, healed now from the attack four days before, but still a bit weakened. "That isn't very long, and it won't be easy to get to the camp without being observed, the Black Wings will post guards, even if they have sided with yoma, they aren't complete fools. Still, I think that's the best chance."

"This is going to take some planning," Sylvia recognized. "We should get off this ridge, I doubt we can be seen from here, but it seems unwise to take any chances at this stage."

Jessica nodded and the four swiftly moved back.

They had set up camp some ways back on the path into the mountains. It was a more beaten trail here, as there had been a few small hamlets along the way the past few days of descent, but nothing like a true road. Still, they would risk no fires now. So the four hunters settled together around a pile of their things, staying close together for no reason any could name.

"So we attack the soldiers first, and then wait for the yoma once they've run, is that it?" Racquel asked, beginning the discussion after a long moment of silence.

"Generally," Tyrin nodded, and Sylvia noted the human woman was more at ease speaking among the other warriors than she had once been, unafraid to voice her opinion. "But to do that we need to find a way to sneak across without being seen. Assuming we can, we'd want to attack right before dawn."

"Why?" Jessica overlaid several questions into that one word.

"That is when the guards will be at their least alert. Also, since the town is on the west side of the river we'd have the sun at our backs, which is an advantage, however small."

Sylvia nodded; this made sense enough to her. Silver eyes were little hindered by glare, but Tyrin's might well be, so that was something to avoid. She began considering how they might get across the river without being observed. No quick solutions came. The river was wide enough here, and there was a deep channel for shipping. A ferry had run when the town functioned, but they had seen it tied to the docks at the Black Wings camp. _Do we need to search out a ford upstream? Or build a ship? Or find one from a farmer to the south?_ Seeing no immediate solution she asked the others. "Do any of you have a good idea as to how we might sneak across? If we built a raft I doubt any among us have the skill to handle a night crossing unseen."

The other fell silent, considering this for a moment. Jessica's silver eyes burned with focus, a sign the others had learned to recognize meant she was thinking hard, for the rest of her face revealed nothing, but no one spoke, having few ideas.

"Can't we just swim?" Racquel said suddenly, but cautious, as if unwilling to trust the obvious.

"You can't swim in armor," Tyrin shook her head.

"You cannot," Jessica remarked, her voice filled with an unusual curiosity. "We…" she looked at Sylvia.

It took a moment for the Claymore to realize why the single-digit was staring at her. She doesn't know, Sylvia discovered with her surprise. She thinks I might have experience. Unusual as the assumption might be, for why would a half-human half-yoma ever swim in their full armor, Sylvia did in fact know the answer. "It is possible," she nodded and knowing the others wanted more continued with the full explanation. "I pursued a yoma onto a ferry once, and he jumped into the river. I forgot to take my armor off in the focus of pursuit. We can swim, with difficulty, though the capes must be discarded for they drag far too much. Yet," she cautioned recalling that day, with claws and spray and a dangerous sinking as she tried to wield her sword while immersed to her neck. "We cannot fight while swimming, the resistance is too great, everything moves too slow, yoma, with their claws, have great advantages."

"That shouldn't matter," Racquel spoke hopefully. "If all we have to do is sneak across. They won't expect anyone to try to swim the river; it'd be too wide for humans."

"Quite," Tyrin interjected. "I can't swim that, certainly not in armor, maybe not at all. I need the armor too, if we're going into a big fight. Even in a panic the Black Wings are going to put up some kind of fight."

"We'll carry you," Jessica decided, and Sylvia heard the force behind the words. The single digit liked this plan. "Between two of us it should not be difficult."

"Only if you can swim fast," Tyrin shook her head, her dislike of this idea, and perhaps a hint of fear, written on her face. "I could freeze from being in water too long and, well…" she paused. "Look I trust you all and everything, but this is a bit much, okay. If this went bad, and you let go, I'd sink to the bottom like a stone. That's a death sentence." Sylvia could clearly see the fear now, not a fear of the river exactly, but something deeper, a fear of helplessness that struck to the core of this otherwise strong woman. _She does not want to leave her fate entirely in others' hands_, the Claymore knew. Somehow what should have been a dark realization brought Sylvia a surge of confidence and an emotion that might be said, deep in the dark suspicious base of her mind, to be happiness. _She would raise this objection to anyone. That we are half-human half-yoma no longer matters_. For a moment the Claymore sat motionless, taking in the realization, the expression of trust laid bare. Only after a few long breaths did she turn her attention back to the matter at hand.

"Is there another way across then?" Sylvia wondered. "The bank has been cut around the town, so it is open; I doubt we could approach that way."

"Could we sneak across to the north or south and attack the yoma first instead?" Racquel asked. "The humans would surely not respond as fast."

Sylvia shook her head, knowing already why that wouldn't work. "I believe the awakened one must be with the yoma, to keep control of them. If we attack them first she will surely occupy us for some time, and then the humans will come up in formation and make full use of their crossbows. Our advantage lies in attacking the humans first. Tyrin can do nothing against an awakened one," she turned her eyes to the soldier as she said this, trying to convey that she was in no way slighting the soldier by this assessment. In truth Sylvia knew that taking on the awakened one would rely largely on the strength of Whirling Jessica. Racquel's talents, and her own, would likely be of little aid. "Even if we won that battle, should we receive wounds the Black Wings could kill us in vengeance." It was seemed slim possibility, but Sylvia knew that if one of them lost a leg and could not run, a very real possibility in the fight to come, then they could well become targets for execution.

"Yes," Jessica confirmed quietly.

"Then do we simply wait for reinforcements?" Racquel wondered.

"No," Jessica's voice was firm, the single digit, whatever her reasons, had committed to finishing this. Sylvia approached the idea with some trepidation, but it did indeed seem best to attack now. Waiting would be dangerous in itself, and if war came then they might lose everything.

"That's great for you to say," Tyrin spoke bitterly. "But you're asking for too much here. I'm not being dragged through a river based on one dunking you had years ago Sylvia, I can't do it."

"Test it then," Jessica's words were immediate.

"A test? What exactly do you mean?" Sylvia queried.

"Test the carry, tonight, upstream, in shallows, you three," Jessica's hands moved to encompass them. "I'll stand watch."

"I suppose we can try it," Tyrin admitted grudgingly. "In the shallows and outside of the current. But," and she held her palm to the single digit's face without any fear. "I make the final decision, understand."

"Fine."

So they walked a short distance upstream, around the first real bend where the town disappeared. There was an appropriate place there, a shallow area protected from the rest of the river by a small sandbar.

"This is a strange thing to be doing," Sylvia commented to no one in particular before shedding her cape and stepping into the water. It was cold, the river being fed by many streams coming down from the mountains they had just exited, but not so cold as it might have been. It was easy enough for a half-human half-yoma to ignore, but she wondered how Tyrin would manage.

Racquel came in beside her, and they walked out to about chest height, still wearing their armor. Sylvia tried to recall how it had felt to swim in the armor as opposed to without it. The weight at the shoulders did not matter much, it was the restrictions on the arms and legs that made it harder.

"How do you think we should do this?" the young Claymore asked.

"I'm not certain," Sylvia considered. "Tyrin, can you think of a method that might be effective?"

"I'm not much for swimming you know," the soldier shook her head.

"We still need to be able to go quickly," Sylvia noted, laying out the pieces. "In order to avoid the effects of the cold. We should distribute the weight as well, and Tyrin must stay above water. It will not be like simply carrying a person," she recognized. "The armor means she will not have buoyancy of her own." She recalled a sailor explaining something of how that worked once, though the details were gone from her memory.

"Could we carry her with linked arms?" Racquel wondered.

"I don't think so," the older warrior shook her head slowly. "It would be too much strain. Perhaps we simply need to stay as close as possible. Tyrin could hang by an arm wrapped around out sword-hilts. Those should be the highest points."

"Let's just try it," Tyrin's voice was filled with irritation. "In case you hadn't noticed this water's cold."

"Right," Racquel sank down fully, immersing herself and beginning to float in place.

Sylvia did likewise, and adjusted to the balance of it. As she had expected the weight of metal on her arms and legs made movement slow, but she could manage. The strength on her motions was enough to help maintain her head above water. Then Tyrin settled down upon them, with Sylvia on the left and Racquel on the right. The weight of the human woman seemed immense, and briefly Sylvia founded as the two warriors were pulled together by armored arms. Then she drew upon her strength and found her balance again. Racquel was very close now, their armor almost rubbing together and scraping up against Tyrin's.

"Let's try moving," she grunted, exerting the power of a half-human half-yoma's muscles. It was not easy, but there was enough space between them to manage a decent swimming motion, and even Tyrin did her best to kick along and propel them, so they managed to move, but it seemed terribly slow.

Suddenly Sylvia felt the water rush past her face faster, and everything seemed easier, as if they were receiving additional propulsion. Startled she lost her focus and shifted, dumping Tyrin fully into the water.

The human woman gasped and thrashed to the surface, struggling to get her feet under her in the muddy riverbed.

Feeling suddenly afraid Sylvia reached out and grasped the woman by the shoulders and held her up.

Only then, having turned about, did she notice the soaking wet visage of Jessica in the water with them.

"Better if I push," was all the single-digit said.

"Enough," Tyrin's face was red, perhaps from anger, perhaps from cold. "Fine, fine, FINE! I'll do it, but let's go and dry off already!"

That turned out to be easier said than done, as they had no spare cloth or other substance to use as a towel. In the end they had to make a very small fire under the trees and behind a hill in order to dry off, taking care to have it be smokeless. Grimly Tyrin cooked dinner for herself, eating heartily. When Sylvia asked about her large appetite she replied that it was never wise to go into battle hungry. _I wonder if that's true? It's never something I've had to worry about after all._

"We'll try to cross shortly before dawn," Jessica set out the final instructions. "Everyone swims together. We get to the shore and attack the Black Wings. Tyrin, you will find their commander, he should be struck down first."

"Right," the soldier clearly understood.

"We will sow chaos, but we mustn't pursue," Jessica's voice brooked no arguments. "Within a count of one hundred and fifty we need to be in the open between the town and docks, slightly upstream."

"What if the humans haven't broken that quickly?" Racquel questioned.

"Then run, as fast as you can. Meet back at the mountain camp of two days ago." Jessica explained, and Sylvia nodded. She understood very well that if they could not break up the humans they'd have no chance against and awakened one and yoma together, not while dodging crossbow bolts. "Once the humans are done Tyrin will stay back, Sylvia, Racquel, deal with yoma. I'll handle the awakened one until you can support me."

It was perhaps more than Jessica had ever said all at once to them, and when she stopped speaking she showed no intention to elaborate. There was really no need for questions anyway. The single digit had given them their orders and now the hunt was on.

In the soft gray darkness before the dawn four women slipped into the water upstream of the docks, having taken their best guesses on current and speed so they would drift in and not past their target.

Looking directly at the distant docks Sylvia waited only long enough to feel Tyrin's armored weight settle over her before she began to swim with all the force she could muster, knowing Racquel to her right was doing the same. Jessica's strong push shortly came from behind.

Little waves, cast about by a slight wind, lapped around and occasionally over them as they made the steady crossing. The cold of the water had no effect on the half-human half-yoma warrior, but she was fit with worry for the armored human on her back. Tyrin said nothing, but at some point during the crossing her teeth began to chatter in the cold.

_Please, please, be alright_, Sylvia would not forgive herself if Tyrin could not go on after this cold dunking, never mind the consequences for the coming battle. She started to feel the other woman's shivering as tiny shifts in her sheathed claymore, and guilt swept over her. _We should not have forced this upon her. It is too much of a sacrifice to ask, and Tyrin owes us nothing, we are the ones who owe her everything._ Redoubling her efforts Sylvia pushed on faster and faster, drawing every closer to the shore, the current carrying her to her goal. _This will work, and we will win, I won't allow anything else to happen. An awakened being is our mistake. I won't have Tyrin be sacrificed to our failures._

The sled orange edge of light signifying the coming of dawn broke over the mountains just as they reached the edge of the docks. Jessica pushed a shallowly gasping Tyrin onto the wooden planks with care, and then the three Claymores followed.

"Quiet," Jessica whispered in the still dim surroundings. A light fog had emerged from the river to cloak them, but it would be foolish to rely upon it.

Two men stood guard near the impounded ferry only a stone's throw downstream from them. Jessica motioned to Racquel.

The young warrior dashed down, far faster than the Black Wings could react. Her arms shot out, grabbing faces, covering mouth and nose, and lifting high. They squirmed and twitched for long moments, as the others looked on, but then at last eyes rolled back in sockets and the two men were still. Slowly Racquel lowered them back down.

"Those are the only guards who can see us here," Sylvia noted, speaking as low as she could.

Infinitely more composed than she had been only moments ago, Tyrin nodded curtly, and drew her blade. "Time to attack."

"Yes," Jessica confirmed. "This alliance ends here."

Moving back together, the group advanced on the still unaware mercenaries, weapons ready.

Chapter Notes: I use 'counts' to reference time in this chapter for two reasons: the first being that the world of Claymore doesn't seem to have a canonically established system of measures, and the second because it seems more logical that a medieval society would render something like speeds in such a method, especially for very short timeframes.

Obviously this is a rather substantial cliffhanger, but things are moving to the big finish now.


	19. Nineteenth Stroke: Facing Prices

**Nineteenth Stroke – Facing Prices**

Their advance was not silent, not at all, but then neither were their targets. The usual daybreak clatter of any group of men suffused its way across the docks, the click and clang of metal on metal as breakfast was warmed over improvised stoves, the tread of boots on the wooden docking, and the grumbling of men waking up cold.

Sylvia shared that last sympathy, for even though she could ignore its touch the water had indeed been frigid, and she was dripping even now. Still, the cold was fading rapidly as the surge of battle came over her, and the beast inside breathed in wrath to warm the blood.

The distinctive clicking noise of a Claymore at a run signaled their approach as the four burst through the ring of buildings, but none guessed that warning, and it was far too late anyway.

"Women?" one man, seated on a barrel at the edge of a cooking fire, managed to gasp as he turned on his seat, then he was tumbling backwards, howling in bitter agony as Sylvia slammed him aside with the flat of her blade, smashing both knees against the backing of that barrel, taking him out of the fight as surely as if he had been slain. More men followed this one, flying back through the air to strike hard against walls or other bodies, propelled by the inhuman force of those great blades.

Two others were not so lucky, as they turned to the noise only to stare upon a glistening, dripping sheet of steel, glowing brilliant with the sun behind it for a moment, until a pair of quick slashes stained the dripping woman with a liquid of far deeper color.

Men screamed, not with pain but horror now, as they saw their fellows fall. "They're killing us! Killing! She's not a Claymore!" incoherent was the mass of the outbursts as men scrambled in all directions. Only a few tried to stand before the silver figures advancing upon them. Some were sentries, others men wise enough to keep their weapons always close, even a double handful of idiots who thought knives from their belts might give them so chance in this encounter.

A half-dozen heartbeats only and this brief resistance was overcome, and a score of men lay in agony or death upon the bloodstained docks. The four warriors, one human and three only in part, dispersed rapidly, knocking aside those who darned to stand before them. _It is working_, Sylvia recognized. _They are overwhelmed_. The Black Wings had not been prepared, and had only had a few sentries out, and most to the other side. The rest of the men were not gird for battle. They had no armor, no loaded crossbows, and their spears were stacked up in racks or circles, useless. Short blades were a waste against massive claymores, or the artful bladework of Tyrin's own skills. So they dispersed, running, choosing to be mercenaries and leave a fight they saw as hopeless. Whatever deal these men had made with the yoma, they did not want to die for it.

"Fall back you fools!" a steady voice, lacking the panic of the other outcries, could suddenly be heard. "Get your bows and wait for the yoma.! Widen the ring!"

_Where is he?_ Sylvia demanded of her senses, searching through the chaos for a man she knew must be an officer, for the voice had much in common with the one who had shouted commands when they had last faced the Black Wings. He must not rally them, she knew. Though she was no tactician it was clearly obvious, they had only moments to break theses mercenaries, they could not be allowed even the semblance of a rally or it might doom them all.

Precious counts ticked by, as Sylvia kept the clock in her head running. That count had dropped by fifty, leaving only one hundred to go. There was no time! Her eyes shifted desperately, looking, but she saw no uniform to mark out such an officer, no badge as she had seen before. _Where is he?_

Then, between a pair of crippling strikes, one with the hilt of her blade and the other made simply using the metal guard on the back of her hard to shatter a man's jaw, Sylvia saw him. There was no difference in uniform, he worn the same everyday clothes of the other mercenaries, and nothing especial marked him out, but he made the mistake of looking straight at her. The truth was in his eyes; eyes that lacked fear, and instead held only contempt.

Sylvia bridged the distance to him immediately, barely noting as Racquel smashed apart a cluster of men struggling to make it to their spears to her right. She knocked aside a pair of mercenaries who dared stand in her way with shear momentum, plowing through them and slamming them to the ground with the weight of her massive blade, idly kicking them into unconsciousness as she went on.

The officer had still managed to draw his sword in that moment, and he held it before him, poised to make one good thrust at the last minute. Even now there was no fear, and the half-human half-yoma suddenly knew that wounding would not be enough. This man would not be intimidated by a broken leg or shattered shoulder. He knew they would not kill, and he would always come back, safe behind that rule. _You despicable creature_, Sylvia thought in that moment. _If the law permitted it I would kill you myself. It does not, but do not think my pride so great as that will save you. _

Before Sylvia would have had to pull to a stop to block the man's thrust before disarming him, had to pull up to establish the distance necessary to use her great sword for defense. After Tyrin's long training, that was not necessary. A simple, delicate shift of grip and position and the mercenary's sword was blocked away, just far enough so that Sylvia's right hand could shot forth and grasp his wrist.

Inhuman strength clamped down, and bones snapped, but that was not the warrior's principle intent. "Tyrin!" Sylvia called, looking over her shoulder to find the human soldier behind her. "This one's their leader! Make him know the price!"

The other woman looked up at that moment, and with nothing more than a tiny jerk of the head, Sylvia could tell she understood. Without hesitation the leader of the Black Wings was sent flying through the air, one mercenary to meet another, each serving on very different sides.

A sweep of Tyrin's sword took the man's head before he met the ground again.

From those who were standing still there came a collective gasp and hesitation from all who still tried to fight. An instant of silence stretched between the screams.

"No mercy!" Jessica's harsh voice, filled with the terrible anger the single digit was capable of when her temper flared, carried across the whole docks. "All who are caught shall die!"

Heads turned toward the single digit that stood surrounded by a ring of groaning bodies, a great swath of men who had dared to intersect her path. None were dead yet, but neither could they move. By the blood glistening off Tyrin's sword, the Black Wings recognized the fate awaiting them.

The mercenaries broke and ran. They were not precisely routed, many kept order and their face to their four enemies, a tribute to their skill, but they still ran. These might be horrid men, men who had cast off all their morals and would kill for monsters, but killing was a far cry from dying, and there was not enough silver in all the world to pay a man to die for yoma.

"Move!" Jessica commanded as they ran.

Recalling the plan Sylvia followed with all her speed, knowing that the yoma would still be coming and they needed to get away from this man of humans. They dared not fight among fallen men who could hinder their movements or even get killed by an errant blow. The open was needed now.

It did not take long to move past the edge of the dockside, slightly upstream on the river. The four hovered now on a small mound, just above the riverbank itself, cut steeply off below at perhaps half again a man's height. _No retreating from here,_ Sylvia recognized. _Our backs are to the water, and we must fight or die._ Looking up toward the town she could see the yoma come to meet them.

They howled like demon wolves, maddened and raging, as they descended the soft hill at speed, legs churning and arms and mouths stretched forward. Moving all over each other Sylvia could not get a precise count. Perhaps thirty or so she guessed.

"Stand," Jessica commanded, taking position in front of the others. Racquel moved up to her left, only a few steps back, and Sylvia mirrored her, standing on the right side. Tyrin stood behind them all, on the edge of the river, sword drawn and coated with human blood. _We must not let any pass!_ Sylvia swore silently. _Not now, she has made all of this possible! I won't let it go wrong now!_

"Little Claymores!" one of the yoma howled. "Foul tasting bitches, but we'll eat you today all the same!" He raced ahead of the others, lurid fangs stretching from his mouth, moving faster and surer than any of the yoma behind.

"Guard," Jessica spoke a single word again, and then stepped forward. Her sword hung low and slightly behind.

The single digit seemed to blur, and her sword moved with her, snapping forward as she moved through that first yoma, leaving two pieces to fly further down the hill for several paces before churning to a stop, but that sword's motion did not stop with that. No, it continued onward, swirling fully around, and then spinning, carrying Jessica with it in a graceful, deadly arc, through another yoma, and another, and two more who, trapped by their onward rush, could not get away in time.

Six dead when that spin reached its end, as the single digit carved through her foes, but many more remained, and now they were all the way down the hill. Even as the first of the long-armed creatures lunged at Sylvia and Racquel, however, they were forced to realize that they had foes ahead and behind.

Sylvia moved with all her strength and speed, slicing through the outstretched arms of one yoma, ducking down below the swipe of another, and then pivoting to stab through a third. It was chaos now, as they pressed into towards her. Needing more speed she let some of her yoki boil upwards. The world turned yellow, brought into feral focus even as a storm of purple blood stretched over everything. Swords met flesh as the three Claymores struggled on, fighting desperately to quell that rush of yoma.

Sylvia leapt over a clawed hand, bounced off Racquel's back to bring her sword in low and shear off the leg of another yoma at the knee, and kept moving. She countered as she had never before, drawing on all the strength of Tyrin's training, closer, further in, swifter than she had ever been able to in the past, to deal with that press. Fingers and arms flew away as those quick slices sank through yoma flesh, and monstrous howls joined the cacophony of sound.

How long it went on Sylvia did not know, the moments stretched out in the press, her senses condensed to all sides, dealing with the fight. Even so she dared spare a moment's glance to note Tyrin, still behind them both, and uninjured, standing aside from this fight at last.

"Enough!" a sudden, alien outcry broke through the air and everything tumbled forward to a stop. Yoma disengaged, many taking parting blows as they did so, one even losing its life as Racquel swept-kicked upward and slammed her metal boot through jaw and skull. Yet they were not all dead, and Sylvia was confused.

Looking out she saw Jessica standing before her. The single digit's blade was strangely clear of blood, but it spotted all over her uniform. The sundered bodies of yoma surrounded her, victims of her speed and strength. All in all only a handful of yoma, eight in all, and three of those missing limbs, remained standing.

Yet all this was secondary to the single figure that drew the eye like filings to a lodestone. A figure dressed in form-fitting white, caped, and with instantly recognizable pieces of armor. It took no guesses to know that this was the awakened one.

_Why does she wear the uniform still?_ The thought struck Sylvia suddenly, but she latched onto it, for it seemed important. She had never seen nor heard of an awakened being still wearing the organizations uniform, and it was surprising. _She must have taken it from one of those whose lives she claimed, the half-human half-yoma warrior realized with a start. The process of awakening usually destroys our uniforms._

"Stand aside, all of you," the awakened being ordered her yoma. "It's clear you can't win this battle, and there's no need to waste you now." She smiled cruelly. "I will handle this."

Something in that smile seemed familiar to Sylvia, and triggered an almost forgotten memory. No, surely not… The word escaped her lips in a whisper. "Katherine?"

There was a moment of silence after the whispered word reached the assembled ears.

Jessica reacted first. "You know her?" she questioned; never once turning away from the awakened one.

Sylvia's memory had always been good and she had trained it over the years, one of her few strengths. "It was eight years ago," she recalled now. "We were part of a four man team to kill a group of eight yoma. It was a very brief meeting."

The awakened being, formerly the Claymore known as Katherine, looked on in strangely empty amusement. It was clear to Sylvia that she did not remember and surely did not care.

"Her number?" Jessica, ever practical, questioned.

It was a good question in its way, Sylvia understood, though it was likely too late to do much about it. "Twenty-five," Sylvia managed to pull forth the memory. "But that was long ago." Numbers could change after all, though rarely by much.

Jessica simply nodded, and stood forth. Presumably the single digit felt confident they could handle an awakened being of that level.

"Why do you wear the uniform?" Racquel spoke up suddenly, her voice betraying discomfort at this. It occurred to Sylvia then that this was the young warrior's first experience with an awakened being, and even though it was clear what Katherine had become, it must be a horrid shock. Looking at that white uniform made her slightly sick inside in spite of greater experience. _Say something that will make it easier to kill you_, Sylvia silently implored their enemy. _Or doff that lying form you wear. You mock us like this!_

"I like wearing this," Katherine sneered. "It is more elegant, besides, the organization needs to know it is one of their own, and not some wild one, who will bring them down."

"No," Jessica said simply, condensing perhaps an hour's argument into that single word of condemnation, and she raised her blade.

"You would really fight me?" Katherine asked. "You want to kill me just because the organization asked you to? Wouldn't you rather join me? You've seen the power of my plan. It is enough to overthrow the organization, enough to let us rule the world. Doesn't that appeal to you?"

"I spit on your place!" Tyrin's voice, fuller and livelier than those of half-human half-yoma, burst out over them all, surprising everyone with her speech. "Better to be eaten by a monster than to become one!"

"Then I'll eat you!" Katherine hissed in animal rage. "You're the one! You've destroyed everything I plotted." She drew the sword from her back and surged forward in a single motion.

A ringing clang of steel upon steel split the riverside, and the awakened being could be seen locked together with Jessica, blade to blade, pressing against each other.

"You will die," was all the single digit said as the time for words, already long over, was slammed utterly shut.

Chapter Notes: Interestingly, awakened beings only very rarely appear in their uniforms in the series, the only other one to have done so is Rosemarie, in Extra Scene 1. Big fight sequence: Whirling Jessica vs. Katherine Double-Edged coming up (assuming I can manage the feat of realistically describing an awakened one without visuals).


	20. Twentieth Stroke: Upon the Edge

Twentieth Stroke – Upon the Edge

**Twentieth Stroke – Upon the Edge**

The massive blades met with hideous force and stood there, stuck as Jessica and Katherine pressed their strength against each other. Neither seized any immediate advantage before, without any prior indication it would happen, the pair jerked apart. They dashed around in wide circles, blades high, and legs churning. They did not close right away, but instead each jockeyed and shifted for position, searching out a momentary lapse or an approach that would provide an opening.

It was all happening very fast, and Sylvia strained to see, to catch the movements, extending all her senses including her yoki sensitivity. This last helped little, for it seemed Katherine was suppressing her yoki to some degree. _It must be a consequence of maintaining her human form_, Sylvia reasoned. _But why is she bothering to fight at all without shifting form?_ She couldn't understand. An awakened being was far more potent in its true form, and it was fairly clear that in this sort of battle Jessica was assuredly the better swordsmen. In testament to this Katherine slowly gave ground, falling back before a flurry of rapid overhead strikes she blocked on barely in time.

"What do we do now?" Racquel's voice jolted Sylvia and she was forced to recall that the pair of them was presently doing nothing but watch their comrade fight. "Should we help Jessica?"

It was a pertinent question, as the crash of swords punctuated the morning air. Jessica swept low, cutting under Katherine's guard, but the awakened being managed to stumble back abruptly, force the blow off with an exertion of brute strength, and regain her balance. Silently the single digit shifted her grip and kept up the attack. _What do we do? _Sylvia wondered. _Do we help? If we do what will that accomplish? _She recalled her previous fights with awakened beings for a moment, those harrowing flashes of chaos and disorder in her memory. She had helped then, surrounding and striking out against far more powerful enemies in an effort to split the awakened being's defenses, generating an opening a more skilled warrior could exploit. _It won't work here_, Sylvia realized. _Katherine's too small_. It recalled a lesson Tyrin had given her, about facing multiple opponents. 'With weapons such as swords, two do not have any great advantage over one' the soldier had explained. 'There is only so much space about a person, and a sword requires room to swing, two men may try to attack over each other, and actually produce a disadvantage.' Looking at that rapid dance of swinging blades, Sylvia realized this was such a situation. "We can't act," she said aloud. "We'd only get in Jessica's way, our swords are too big."

"Do we just watch then?" Racquel's tone made it clear that she couldn't accept that passive course.

Sylvia couldn't either, she admitted privately. She was not brave, but she wouldn't stand aside, not like this, not against an enemy they had come so far and lost so much to come to grips with. Lynne's eyes flashed in her memory, and she knew she wanted to strike a blow at the cause standing before her. "We have to wait, but stand ready," she told Racquel, gradually recognizing what must be done. "Jessica has the advantage, but Katherine won't die like this," Unless she made a huge mistake and allowed Jessica to slice her head free or torso in two Sylvia recognized it would not happen, the current battle was a farce. "She'll have to reveal her true form. There should be a pause then, a moment of delay, that's when we strike."

"I understand," Racquel nodded; her sword ready.

Jessica spun about away from Katherine for a moment, and the awakened being jumped backwards to avoid a thrust. "Irritant," she spat. "You're annoyingly quick. I suppose you're a single digit then. What number?"

The single digit did not reply, simply stepped forward, and circled right for another attack, blade high.

The massive blades crossed, struck hard, and then Jessica dodged backward, backflipping over a counterstroke and dashing away quick thrusts, lacking force but not letting Katherine get in a heavy blow.

_A test, _Sylvia realized grimly. _Katherine has greater raw strength than Jessica_. It was hardly surprising, most awakened beings had vastly enhanced power, even in false forms, but it was discouraging. _Jessica does seem to be faster though, so maybe she can find an opening._ Had Sylvia believed any god would listen to a half-human half-yoma she would have prayed then. As it was, she could only hold sword and yoki force in readiness, waiting for a chance to come.

It was a strange fight, as it went on, for Katherine grunted and hissed and spat insults as she blocked and countered Jessica's attacks, but the single digit said nothing, maintaining a disconcerting silence broken only by steady breathing. No words, no noise, only poised control of her weapon. The growing anger on Katherine's face could be seen, as the awakened being slowly lost control.

_Is this a strategy?_ Sylvia dared to wonder. Jessica might be acting deliberately, hoping to cause the awakened being to lose control and burst into her true form. If she did that while too close she might well be vulnerable to being carved up completely. Knuckles tightening, Sylvia tried to sense the flow of yoki and wait for a moment when it surged.

Anger contorting her features, Katherine charged, blade held flat, as if to simply spear through Jessica's defense and pierce her belly.

The single digit shifted, pivoting her body, shifting her sword, and let the attack come on.

Jessica's arms suddenly moved at blurring speed, spinning her sword around in tight narrow circles as she made a single step to the side. Katherine's blade flashed past her body, with the tip of Jessica's own claymore now inside her guard.

The awakened being planted a foot down and smashed her body to one side, but not before taking a long gash along her right side, slicing at the uniform along the hip with a tearing of metal as the guards were wrenched aside.

"You bitch!" Katherine roared, and her features twisted.

"Get ready!" Sylvia hissed to Racquel.

Jessica did not give up her momentary advantage. Her eyes burned yellow as she bolted after the unbalanced awakened being, her sword still held forward. She had little power that way, but with her enemy's sword to one side and her body exposed there was an opening to jab. Again and again and a third time the tip of the great blade pierced white fabric, tearing cloth and pale skin beneath, leaving little triangular splotches of blood to stain the rest.

All three hits came to the legs, and none were serious by the standards even of a Claymore, never mind an awakened being, but they bled Katherine, increasing her anger and her uncertainty, making her lose focus, creating opportunities. It was hard to see from a distance, but Sylvia thought each strike might be a bit deeper than the last. With luck, Jessica could continue the blows long enough to take a leg clean off, which might well decide the outcome.

Katherine was not so easily taken in. She had a shown a keen mind in planning her attacks before, and she knew the strategies of Claymores. So she acted after the third blow, stopping her motion and bringing her sword around in a roundhouse sweep.

Jessica's point of steel penetrated a fourth time, carving deep into the flesh of the right thigh, but she could not go any further, having to roll away from the oncoming counter and rise to her feet at an equal position again, blade before her.

"You've ruined my uniform," Katherine hissed and sputtered. "So I suppose another little pinprick or two won't hurt, not when I take your head!"

She raised her sword overhead, a high position with both hands behind it, ready to make a massive top-down blow. Muscles in her legs rippled and groaned, swelling with power as yoki was channeled. "Die!" Katherine howled, charging head on.

Sylvia's eyes widened in shock when Jessica chose to meet that charge with her own. _Madness! Katherine's strength is great and now they match for speed, she'll rip right through Jessica's attack!_

The charges came together, but suddenly Jessica planted her left foot before her, well before the blades would connect.

_What?_ Sylvia's eyes could barely see what was happening.

All of Jessica's momentum suddenly shifted as her whole body twisted about, bringing her blade up in a tight arc around her body, turning completely so that when the pair of massive blades met the single digit's sword met the awakened being's on a downward course of its own, but slicing in from the side with all the power of the screw-motion spin behind it.

There was an ear-splitting crash. Sparks flared and then Katherine roared in shock, but it did not contain the chaos, and steel crashed upon steel again, and then a third and fourth time.

Dust settled about the two fighters and Sylvia looked on in astonishment. Katherine's chest had been narrowly grazed by the tip of the blade four times, cutting ragged lines of blood across it, no doubt far shallower wounds than the silent single digit had intended to carve. Yet this was nothing compared to the shocking scene of the awakened being holding a hilt connected only to a shattered arm length of blade, and four pieces of mangled steel lying upon the ground. Jessica's whirling attack had struck clear through with each of her circling strikes, severing the incredibly hard blades the Claymores wielded.

"Tsk, how wretched," Katherine's voice was filled with aggravation, but surprisingly calm. "Well then," she stepped back several steps. "I suppose I'll have to fight you like…this…then," her voice deepened and her body started to tear apart, expanding upward and outward in every direction.

"Now!" Sylvia shouted, already bolting forward, but she suspected the chance was gone; Katherine's sudden calmness had ruined any opportunity.

The awakened being's body shifted and contorted, growing much taller, at least three times that height of a man, and it shifted and bent as it did so. Her legs remained slender, but the feet widened and the joints rippled, becoming almost birdlike. Shoulders broadened massively, hulking and ogrish like those of a yoma, her hands contorting into long and deadly claws. Katherine's head seemed to flatten out and a pair of long plated ridges grew out from the top of her skull, giving her the strange appearance of a frog wearing a helmet. Last of all, just as Sylvia and Racquel charged up on the flanks to make a hoped for strike, long tendrils of flesh shot out from the shoulder blades and ankles, hardened and twisted into long and sharp sickle-spears, gleaming deadly as they moved about as completely new limbs.

One of these frightful leg blades lashed out toward Sylvia, blocking her attack completely and throwing her backwards with tremendous force. She barely managed to stay upright, skidding to a stop by slamming her blade into the dirt as a break. Racquel flipped away on the other side, likewise thwarted by those eerie dangling cleavers.

"I hate this form," Katherine's voice was erratic, garbled, almost mumbled. "It's disgusting, but I suppose I need it to get rid of you, single digit." She took a single long stride forward.

"What are your orders Jessica?" Sylvia asked, wondering what to do now, how they would fight this creature. Every awakened being was unique, and a misstep here could mean their end. Looking across to Racquel she could see the young Claymore blanch and tremble, her expression nervous. She had managed that initial attack, but now the horror and projection of yoki power confused and frightened her. It afflicted Sylvia as well, the horrible presence of an awakened being, terrifyingly strong, but she managed to barely hang onto focus. She'd survived this before, and she reminded herself that she'd need to stay ready to survive this now. They could win, they were winning, really, she just needed Jessica to give her a plan.

"Circle around," Jessica ordered. "I will make her move forward, strike then."

"Right," Sylvia nodded. She had no idea whether or not it would work, but it was a plan, and she needed a plan now, something to trust in.

Carefully, mirroring Racquel's movements, she moved back around behind Katherine, staying wide, knowing those strange cleavers hanging from shoulders and sprouting from the legs might well be able to extend some distance, and even if not the fingers surely could.

Jessica stood calmly before the hulking awakened being, holding her sword low and to the right side, as she did before her great spinning charges like the one she had used against the yoma before. In this Sylvia glimpsed the single-digit's plan. Jessica would charge with all her spinning power and Katherine would have to counter-charge, or see her defense smashed apart just as her sword had been. In that moment, so long as she could manage to avoid those cleavers on the shoulders and legs there would be a chance to attack. Sword held white-knuckle tight in both hands, Sylvia gathered her yoki, channeling it to muscles for all the speed she could muster, ready to make that agile dash when the moment came.

Whirling Jessica, the organization's eighth-best warrior, charged in at Katherine, a warrior no longer, and she spun about as she came, building the massive whirling force.

Katherine stood motionless.

_What?_ Sylvia gasped in the brief space she had, not understanding how the awakened one simply intended to let that attack slam into her. _Do I attack?_ The situation was not as she predicted and Sylvia hesitated for a critical moment, worried that if she struck out then she'd by slashed apart by Jessica's blade as well. Thus, when she moved a moment later, and Racquel, apparently making the same choice, they would not reach Katherine's position until a bare instant after Jessica had struck home.

Steel sang through the air, dust churned and kicked up pebbles and loose branches, and the mighty blade of the single digit hit home with the squelching sound of a blade slamming deep into flesh.

Then the dust cleared, and Sylvia's heart cried out at what she saw.

Jessica stood before Katherine, but her blade was held fast horizontal to the ground, clenched in the claws of the awakened being. Her sword had slashed through both the cleaving appendages that hung from the shoulders and sprouted from the ankles, but that had robbed them of force, allowing the blade to be held between hard, bleeding claws.

Jessica had no time to do more than wrench uselessly, a single last effort against that grip.

Katherine's fingers shot out twisting over the blade, weaving and slicing, to penetrate many gouges deep into the single digit's torso. Sylvia could tell at once that the wounds were fatal.

"No!" Racquel cried, and resumed her stalled dash, trying to slice off the awakened being's head from behind. Sylvia joined her in the same instant, driven both by sorrow and the recognition that this was their only chance, now, before Katherine had a chance to regenerate those lost appendages.

"Laughable," Katherine chuckled with malice, dropping Jessica to the ground and turning about with lightning speed.

A massive fist came in under Sylvia's blade and she was hurled down, flying along the way she had come, twisting in midair, out of control. Desperately she tried to orient herself but it was all she could do to retain a deadlock on her blade with one hand.

She landed all the way back at the end of the river embankment, on her knees. The bones cracked hideously when she landed and the Claymore knew from the terrible lance of pain that both kneecaps had been shattered. _No!_ she raged, understanding the injury in all its terror. _This will not heal quickly. Now I can do nothing but watch Racquel die!_

The young warrior had managed to land with greater grace, but she too had been caught and thrown, unable to damage Katherine, who still bled profusely from the wounds Jessica had managed to inflict in her failed attempt to kill this foe. Sylvia felt despair crawl over her, knowing that they had lost, that their enemy had tricked them. She had stood and held position, a thing no Claymore would do in that situation. _A human trick!_ Sylvia realized. _She mimicked the Black Wings and their spear-lines. How could we be so stupid as to not see it!_

Katherine, laughing, stood between her remaining foes. Racquel was still behind her, but she turned to face the fallen Sylvia. _No_, Sylvia realized in horror, looking to her the right of where she lay, trying to find the focus to channel yoki toward healing. The awakened one was staring at Tyrin.

The human woman stood tall some few feet in front of Sylvia. Her sword was out and still stained with the blood of men killed earlier, but she had made no moves so far, wisely staying out of this madness.

"So?" Katherine's gaze met Tyrin's armored visage. "You are the source of all my setbacks, the annoying human who disrupted my scheme. I am most angry with you," she sneered, grimacing awfully in her flattened expression. "I shall slowly consume your guts as punishment, while you yet live to watch it."

In that moment Sylvia knew she would die. It filled her with a strange sense of regret. Many regrets, ones she could not name, things unfulfilled and left behind, they flooded through her, but she pushed them down beneath her pain, knowing none of this changed the reality of the situation. There was, she knew, one thing yet she might do. "Run!" she bellowed with all her strength. "Run Tyrin! Run Racquel! Save yourselves! We cannot win now! Go!"

Above her on the slope toward the town, Racquel hesitated. Shook her head slowly, and then looked down at all who remained, Katherine, Tyrin, Sylvia lying in a heap, and the crowd of yoma still standing off. Her eyes flashed Sylvia a look that would lodge ice cold in her memory forever, so terrible was the self-loathing, but she turned and dashed away upstream, into the shelter of the timber plantings there.

Tyrin turned to Sylvia for a moment, and though her eyes were hidden by her helmet, her mouth had compressed thin as a razor. She started to look upstream as well, and Sylvia felt a bit of hope that at least she might survive.

Then there was a burst of motion, and suddenly Katherine's great form, still missing pieces, was between the two.

"I guess running isn't an option then," Tyrin's voice was iron as she turned to face Katherine, now between her and Sylvia, and the river as well. "Well, I won't cower." She held her sword before her in full readiness.

"Good," Katherine lisped. "Embrace your death, the death you must have known would come. How could you, a mere pathetic human, hope to embroil yourself in our affairs and survive? Your kind makes suitable pawns, but nothing more. Without numbers and your technological contrivances you have no power. Here, I will prove it," Katherine laughed with her head thrown back, a reptilian sound, half-dead in origin. "My defenses are as weak as they shall ever be. Take your best swing at me if you dare." She spread her arms wide.

Chapter Notes: This was really hard to do, and took a long while because I kept stalling on it. Part of the difficulty is Katherine. Awakened Beings are almost impossible to describe and just very difficult to handle properly in the purely written medium, I think they work much better when drawn. Regardless, Katherine's appearance is generally based of the 'Double-Edges' a type of Mecha from Blue Gender (they had the whole cleaver-blades out of the shoulder thing that I'd thought would work perfectly in an awakened being for ages). This is partly a very roundabout homage to Claymore, since in Blue Gender the lead female role, Marlene Angel, was voiced by Kuwashima Houko, who also voiced Clare in the Claymore anime, and the two characters (both blond no-nonsense military ladies who conceal a softer side) are extremely similar.

Poor Jessica passes very abruptly here, given the circumstances, but she'll get treated further later.


	21. TwentyFirst Stroke: Memory's Blade

Twenty-First Stroke – Memory's Blade

**Twenty-First Stroke – Memory's Blade**

_I am going to have to watch Tyrin die_. Something immeasurably cold and horrific unfolded inside Sylvia as this thought poured through her brain, this hideous, inescapable reality that slammed into her. Knowing this was somehow, impossible though it seemed in every way, many times worse than knowing that her own death would follow shortly thereafter.

It would take several minutes to heal the wounds in her knees. There was no getting around that, none. Sylvia had experience repairing damage to her body, a legacy of her lengthy career. She might well be better at it than most warriors, but there was no increasing the rate. Even if she had the strength of yoki to do so, pouring power into her legs would not solve the problem, it took a delicacy and focus she was barely maintaining as it was, given the terrible situation. Only because that focus helped to block out the horror around her, to give her something to do other than wallow in dread, could she manage to continue.

Tyrin stood facing Katherine's awakened form. The demonic creature was wounded, certainly, her extreme sickle-limbs sliced free in the sacrificial defense that had saved her and turned the tide of the engagement, but hardly weakened. Pain was nothing to yoma and awakened ones, and her arms and inhuman strength and speed would be more than enough to block Tyrin. Even if the human woman should land a blow, and Katherine's widespread arms gave her the ghost of a chance, what would it matter? _She does not have the height to cut off her head, and the vitals are to deep in that ogre-body for her blade_, Sylvia knew. _She could bury the blade to the hilt in Katherine's chest, and still have her guts ripped open._

Sylvia, a Claymore who had seen almost ten years of service, who had observed countless horrors no woman should ever see, had never wanted to look away more than she did now, but she did not. Her eyes were held to the scene and nothing could possibly release them from that terrible tableau.

Slowly Tyrin walked up toward Katherine, her sword out. She did not thrust, or fall into a combat stance, or anything at all like that, she simply advanced holding her word. The woman's eyes moved up and down, taking in all of Katherine, but looking nowhere else.

_Does she have a plan?_ Sylvia wondered. She could see no hope, but it was clear Tyrin intended to try something, anything, and was ignoring all distractions. Hopeless though it all was, the Claymore felt a surge of emotion and a great desire for Tyrin to strike a blow, to draw blood from the awakened one, even if it was ultimately meaningless. For it was not, she realized at last, meaningless for a human to stand forth before dying against a monster. There was something to that choice, though Sylvia could not have said what the meaning of it was.

"You really think you can harm me?" Katherine laughed, cruel and malevolent. "What idiocy, I'd almost rather you beg me for mercy. It would be more fun."

Tyrin kept walking, until she was very close to Katherine, between legs that stretched to a waist now above her head. Her sword moved, seemingly casually, but Sylvia, long experienced with the soldier's motions, knew that it was not. Tyrin's eyes were facing up at Katherine now, but for an instant she glanced down, facing Sylvia. The Claymore saw a reckless smile take those features then.

The reality of the moment burst upon Sylvia in a flash. _She's inside Katherine's guard!_ The awakened being had made a critical error, she had been deceived by Tyrin's calm walk and perhaps her own dislike of her own form. Her body was too large, and with only her arms to fight with, a quick attack could strike her before those arms could close down.

Tyrin's sword moved back, and her left arm extended loosely forward. Watching this, Sylvia understood, and her teeth clenched down, hard, painful, so she would stay silent and ready. She must not betray this mad attempt.

_Strike!_ Sylvia thought at the moment the attack came.

The soldier's sword faded back behind her shield, and the woman's whole body snapped forward.

Katherine reacted, moving her leg, but too late, for she had not seen the nature of the trick attack, and so moved into it, instead of safely away. Her limbs had an awakened being's quickness, but her eye was no faster than before, and it had been fooled.

Steel strung iron-hard muscle and bone with a wrenching noise, and blood spurted. Katherine howled, not in pain but in rage at this humiliation, and reached down to rip apart the nuisance she had let get too close.

There was nothing there, for Tyrin had not stopped, but let her motion carry her forward, running past her target by squeezing beneath her hulking legs.

Sylvia gasped with the success, but then realized with a start that Tyrin had positioned her attack so she was carried directly toward where the Claymore lay in pain.

"What?" Sylvia gasped in disbelief.

Katherine turned about, and she saw the human soldier sheath her sword in an instant and reach down to grasp the Claymore about the waist. She howled in anger and amusement, and spun about to leap forward and end this foolish rescue effort.

At least, she attempted to.

The awakened being pivoted on her right leg, but when her left leg came down in the packed soil there was a crack. The leg twisted, unbalanced, and then buckled. "Impossible!" Katherine shouted, but she could not stop her body from toppling over.

It was easy to understand for Sylvia, watching it happen. Tyrin had struck a below to muscle and tendon on that left leg. It was hardly a powerful blow, but Katherine's awakened form was like that of most yoma, ogrish and hulking. Massive shoulders and arms rode above small legs, leaving the body unbalanced. With the strain of a rapid spin the leg had been strained just enough that even a small wound proved too much.

A yoma might have howled and cursed for some time, but Katherine was adaptable, and she slammed her left arm down to prop her body up. "Die!" she screamed as the fingers from her right hand elongated to seeking spears and shot forward after Tyrin.

"Grab hold!" the human warrior hissed to Sylvia, and then lunged. She moved not to the side or to roll away, but forward, jumping off the edge of the river embankment to the thin strip of mud almost twice her height below. In shock Sylvia held to those armored shoulders and felt the unfamiliar sensation of uncontrolled falling for an instant before they hit.

"Damn!" Tyrin grunted in pain, driven to her knees from the burden of her armor and weight along with her own in the fall. Only the training that had been driven utterly down into Sylvia in the long years of indoctrination made certain she held onto her sword, clanging the massive blade of Tyrin's armored hip. She had not even remembered she was holding it still in her shock and astonishment.

"What?" Sylvia muttered in confusion.

"No time!" Tyrin hissed, surging to her feet and beginning a strange shambling run, with Sylvia hanging from her shoulders, upstream along the riverbank. "You can heal yourself right? Do it already!"

"I'm trying!" Sylvia managed in response, regaining awareness of herself in that moment, and with it, the severe pain of her wounds, now that the fog of hopelessness had somewhat cleared.

"Catch then and kill them you idiots!" Katherine's voice howled above, easily heard by human and Claymore. "I'll kill you myself if you fail!"

"She's ordered the yoma after us," Sylvia realized, heart sinking. "Tyrin, drop me and run, get yourself from here."

"Do…you…think…" the soldier's breath was labored, her exertion clear. "I'd…carry…something…this…_heavy_…if…that…had a…chance."

It was true, horrible though it might be, and Sylvia knew it. Tyrin needed her to heal, to fight, or they were both doomed. _But how can I fight? My knees will not hold me, not yet. I need time! There is no time!_ It seemed absurd, and Sylvia felt the grasp of hopelessness clench into her again. "My knees are fractured," Sylvia explained, saying it because she knew not what else to say. "It cannot be repaired quickly. I can't stand."

Tyrin stopped running then, and her grip on Sylvia relaxed. "I'll try to buy you some time then," she began, and moved to drop the Claymore from her shoulders to the ground.

"No, don't," Sylvia was suddenly certain that was not the right choice. She knew it would fail, Tyrin could not last being swarmed over by yoma. _There had to be something else. If only I could stand! _Sylvia pleaded inside herself. _Then there would be a chance! Aside from my knees I can fight!_

_Aside from my knees…_ in a flash it dawned on Sylvia that, she could not stand, but she was not presently lying on the ground either. She almost laughed then, feeling a mad idea take hold of her. "Don't," she repeated to Tyrin, and carefully she shifted her weight, pulling her body closer to the human woman, knowing there would be only seconds to explain before the yoma caught them. She pulled her right arm up, holding her sword out past Tyrin's shoulder. "We'll fight like this. You move, and I'll swing."

"That's crazy!" Tyrin snapped.

"We know each other well enough," Sylvia managed, just as the first pair of yoma dropped down into the muddy riverbank behind them. "Besides," she added hastily with utter seriousness. "I'm afraid I don't think you have enough time to put me down and draw."

"Very well," Tyrin's voice was low, almost inaudible as she husbanded her breath. "I trust you."

Sylvia poured yoki down her limbs as the pair of yoma charged, their smiles all but bursting from their faces at such seemingly vulnerable opponents. Her left hand and upper legs clamped down upon the ridges of Tyrin's armor, holding fast by strength alone.

The yoma attacked arms outstretched, slobbering and hungry. Tyrin did not attempt to direct or warn Sylvia, did not say anything, she simply moved.

The soldier's armored body bent in the middle, descending forward and turning at once, sweeping around. Sylvia seized the moment; lashing her blade under the right-hand yoma's attack and slicing upward to take its head clean off. Tyrin's motion did not continue, but instead pulled back, so as the yoma overcompensated and hurled its larger body toward them it stepped into Sylvia's thrust. The massive blade plunged deep into the chest, cleaving the heart.

Ogrish bodies plummeted to the muddy earth, but more yoma were coming on. Tyrin turned and moved, advancing sideways against the river's path, moving slowly upstream, sliding between the advancing enemies as if they were rocks blocking a boater. Sylvia's sword moved in contrast to her bearer, shifting with every motion, slicing, cleaving, and piercing demon flesh.

It should not have worked, not normally. Their position was awkward, vulnerable. Sylvia hard no proper way to defend herself, and that left the backside of the pair almost entirely open. Tyrin's own movements were limited. She could not make certain movements for lack of strength, or a certainly that she would lose balance and fall. Yet somehow, impossibly, the two of them were not stopped, and it was instead the yoma who fell, clutching lost limbs or killing wounds.

_Why? Why is this happening?_ The thoughts flowed through Sylvia's mind as it seemed otherwise empty; her fighting had become fluid and instinctive, always a step ahead of the yoma. In a blurry flash of insight as blood sprayed over her wounded body, she realized why. _All the training together, all those long hours, I know Tyrin's way, I anticipate her._ It would never have happened with another warrior. They would learn to read each other's yoki, but that was a dissonant, sharpened thing, something that pushed away not bound together. Yet with Tyrin, with a human who bore no yoki, Sylvia had learned her motions, the flow of her body, had learned how she fought, had absorbed it deeply, to the point they could mimic her. Even now, she recalled that Tyrin had once warned her against it, had said they had practiced against each other too much, it created a danger of becoming accustomed to certain ways of fighting, opened vulnerabilities elsewhere.

_Yet now, this is a blessing, a strange and unlooked for expansion of possibility._ Somewhere in the depths of her mind, as the final yoma before them fell away clutching a bloody shoulder, Sylvia felt a feeling that had been distant, flicker back to her. Where before she had known for certain she would die, there was now a chance she might survive this day. Not win, but live. Once again Tyrin's strength, wisdom, and willingness to step into this madness had saved her, just as it had when they first met.

For perhaps one hundred heartbeats Tyrin ran on, armored boots fighting the mud, after the last yoma had given up or perished. Her breathing was ragged, gasping, and the Claymore knew it could not last. The human woman had reached the limits of her strength. "Put me down," she whispered, not wanting to shatter the sense that they might survive. "Before you fall."

Without wasting energy to speak, Tyrin rolled Sylvia off her shoulders, dumping her into the thick wetness of the riverbank soil. It was a sudden feeling of cold, but the warrior pushed it away, focusing all her energy, all her concentration on healing her damaged knees. She had to hurry, or there would be no escape.

"You…are…too…heavy," Tyrin muttered beneath great gulps of air. "For someone so thin." It might have been a joke, but the soldier did not smile. "How long?"

There was no need to ask for what to happen. Sylvia simply should her head, not willing to devote the mental energy to estimate it at this point. "There is only haste," she answered.

Under the caress of sick-sweet demon energy, bones knit, tendons bound, and muscles healed. It was a hideous feeling, it left Sylvia wanting to sick up, to expel the foul infusion, the foreign power, from her body, but she could not. It was necessary, so instead she made it obey, crushing it beneath her fear and despair and her hope, enslaving it to her will. Soon, but not soon enough, it was done.

The Claymore did not bend her leg gingerly, or test her knee carefully by standing slowly. There was not a second to waste. Besides, she had healed wounds before; she could read the point at which recovery had been achieved. Convalescence was a thing of exhaustion in half-human half-yoma, not of injury. She stood, and grabbed Tyrin by the shoulders, pulling her up as she had before when carrying the soldier across the river. "I apologize for the roughness, but we have to flee," she said, even as she sprang forward.

Sylvia did not run along the riverbank, but ascended upward into the timber stands just above the cut, knowing the solid ground there would give her better footing and more speed. She ran with all she had, pounding her legs as fast as she could, even though injuries remained to unimportant areas, and every step burned with fire. _I have to get away. I have to get far enough, so Katherine gives up! _The awakened one had surely healed herself by now, Sylvia knew, and must be pursuing. It would be them she pursued as well, for Racquel had shown prudence and suppressed her yoki. The youthful warrior could not be sensed anywhere nearby. Her escape, at least, had been a success. That was a small solace, if nothing else. _Even if Katherine catches us, Racquel will live, she can tell whoever comes after about her form, her methods, it will make a difference_. Not much to take from this engagement, but even a tiny sliver of accomplishment could inspire faster steps.

Tyrin, hanging on to the Claymore, said nothing, and out of the corner of her eye, Sylvia thought the warrior utterly terrified. _She is not meant to move at this speed_, she recognized.

_She comes_, Sylvia's thoughts were interrupted by a feeling, the presence of a massive force of yoki behind her that could only be Katherine's pursuit. The awakened being was being smart about it as well, projecting her energy in all directions, making it almost impossible to read. That would make it harder to for Katherine to attack, but it gave the Claymore and the human warrior no clear direction to run.

_If it were just me I would make for the river_, Sylvia considered, for that unbalanced top-heavy form with its extra blade-limbs seemed poorly suited for rapid swimming. _But I cannot. I will not._ Tyrin had already saved her today, had given her a chance to survive, so she could not abandon her, even though the demon voice inside screamed for it.

On they ran through the forest, weaving past tress young and old, vaulting boulders and fallen trunks, but making no progress. Katherine did not get closer, but neither did Sylvia outdistance her. It was a stalemate, and one that could not last. Sylvia was certain that the trees were difficult to navigate for the awakened being's hulking form, and that was the only thing allowing her to maintain a lead, but the trees could not endure. They would come to farms again very soon. I have to do something, she knew, and thought desperately. _Do I put Tyrin down and have her run? Could I lure her to me using yoki? A human cannot be sensed, only smelled out, there might be a chance._ She thought about it, but it seemed hopeless. Katherine had been wounded by a human, her vengeance for that would be total, and Tyrin, tired as she was, would not make it far. She would be tracked down and killed.

Suddenly they hit a clearing, split across by the massive trunk of the great tree that had formed it. That trunk, half again as wide as Sylvia was tall, formed a great obstacle, and she had not seen it in time. She could not make the jump in stride; it would only hurl her face into it. She had to slow down and adjust.

Such a seemingly tiny obstacle, but it proved tremendous.

Just as the Claymore could sense the yoki of the awakened one as she ran, so too did it work the other way, for in expending her efforts to run at full speed yoki leaked from Sylvia as well. Even as she stopped, Sylvia read the incredible burst of speed from her pursuer, as Katherine closed the distance impossibly quickly.

She came from the left, the opposite of the river, even as they were suspended in the bound over the great bole. Eyes filled with animal murder, Katherine raised an arm as she charged, and her clawed fingers burst forth like spears.

Unable to dodge, Sylvia desperately hauled forth her sword, but the motion of her flight worked against her, and she could not bring it around in time.

Those barbs impacted upon flesh, and bit deep.

Sylvia felt no pain, even as blood entered the air before her, and she realized in absolute horror that it had been Tyrin who'd been hit, not she.

Time slammed to a stop for one endless breath.

_No! No! NO! Not like this, not this way!_ Sylvia raged, not at the wounding, not at her failure, but at the simple randomness of it. It had been a completely even chance, which way the attack came. Katherine had burst through the trees should could not have seen. A coin flip determinant on whether Sylvia or Tyrin would be hit. It was impossible, unfair, unacceptable: _This is too cheap, it steals everything!_ _Not like this!_

Katherine was hardly done, and in endless suspension of time Sylvia observed one of the those deadly cleavers hanging from the shoulders, fully restored now as it they had never been cut, rise up into position, poised to extend into a spear to impale human and half-human half-yoma alike.

Before that slanted spear moved a dart of silver-white interposed itself in the frame of the moment. A long blade led it, and slammed past at phenomenal speed to slam directly into those extended claws.

Flesh gave, cleaved by the blade, but it had held for the briefest of moments, time enough for forces to shift. Sylvia gasped as she saw Racquel's thin and beautiful body pivot in midair, and powered by turning grace and vigorous yoki, detonate a merciless spinning kick against Katherine's flattened face.

The awakened being was hurled backwards, unfettered for she had been airborne as well. She slammed against a tree as wide around as a Claymore's sword, and it snapped. A great chorus of snapping followed, as branches bent, butted, and broke in the canopy above. Even as her feet touched the ground again, many tons of leaf, bough, and trunk slammed down upon Katherine's inert form.

"Tyrin!" Sylvia's first thought was to look at the woman. A glimpse revealed four punctures, one in the right shoulder and not serious, but the other three curled down from there toward the center of the chest, clean through the armor, having struck with more force than the strongest crossbow bolts.

"Run!" Racquel called, as the arc of motion carried her into another tree, but she put forward her left arm, bent it, and pushed off, pressing away even as the tree snapped back. The silver-haired warrior pirouetted in midair and landed in stride beside Sylvia. "Later! We must run!"

It was impossible to deny. Racquel's mad gambit had bought them moments at most, for Katherine would not stay buried beneath that pile of scattered wood for long. So they ran. Though every bounce and shake made Sylvia cringe and squirm beneath a horrid tangle of feelings, she knew, horrible truth that it was, that unless they escaped now, the state of Tyrin's injuries was completely irrelevant.

Soon they exited the trees, entering scrabbled pastures with idle rotting fences scattered about. In the distance, Sylvia saw another patch of trees, and angled towards it. "It we can make that copse," she gasped to Racquel. "We can suppress our yoki and hide, while in the open, we must run." It was a desperate race now, for if they could make the trees before the awakened one emerged from the woods behind, Katherine would not know were they had gone, and would have to search the hard way. They could elude her then.

They were not halfway across when Sylvia felt the burning beacon of yoki behind her, a bonfire racing after her heels. "We won't make it," she knew, and slowed almost to walking. "We'll have to stand and fight."

Racquel's expression was empty of hope, her lovely face drained and cold, but the younger warrior nodded, knowing it to be true.

"Put…me down," Tyrin whispered from beside Sylvia. Her voice was frightfully weak, but firm.

They stood atop a small circular rise, almost bereft of plants, seemingly cleared away by a grass fire not long past. Carefully Sylvia lowered Tyrin to the blackened earth, stilling a gasp when blood oozed from gaps in the warrior's armor as it shifted against the ground.

"Tyrin…I'm…I'm," she tried to speak, to apologize, to say something.

"Quiet," the soldier silenced her. "Not much time."

"Can't I help you?" Sylvia mumbled desperately. "Sew your wounds like Jessica did, I had her teach me."

Tyrin shook her head slowly. "I'm bleeding inside, I can feel it. Not even the best surgeon could do a thing," she grimaced, clearly fighting pain. "Kind of a shame, her aim could have been better. I'd have rather it taken my heart than bleed out like this."

Sylvia had to look away, she could say nothing. She felt numb, deadened.

"Look here," Tyrin commanded, and the human woman's hands moved. She reached down, trembling, and managed to slowly pull free her sword. Slowly she lifted it up before her, using both hands for steadiness, and pushed it to Sylvia.

Not knowing what else to do the Claymore wrapped her hands around those Tyrin's gauntleted hands, about the swordhilt.

"I want…" Tyrin coughed, and blood stained her mouth. "I want you to have this, and my shield too."

"What?" Sylvia felt disbelief burst in her, she did not understand. "I could not…"

"No!" Tyrin hissed, pained. "No," she went on with frightful control. "It's yours, I taught you, taught you all I knew of the sword, the only person I got to instruct. So take it, wield it, and let it help you kill yoma."

"I promise I will always remember your teachings," Sylvia could feel tears forming in her, a strange feeling, so rare, as the sadness buried her.

"I have one, selfish, favor to ask," Tyrin went on, her eyes barely open anymore. "Find my sister, find Celeca, be the sister to her that I…I wasn't able to be, please; and tell her this for me, even if I couldn't do it my self. Claymores are worth loving, even if they've forgotten how to love themselves. Even I, who couldn't remember to treasure her friends, can see that." When she was done, Tyrin coughed again, and left go the sword, her arms falling down to the earth, all strength gone.

Only one thing more would she say, in a whisper that could barely be heard. "Sylvia, you should keep living, that way, someone will remember us warriors."

Tyrin's breathing continued, but Sylvia, through her tears, knew she would say nothing more. Her life would simply ebb away in the slow red flow and be gone.

Kneeling on the ground, Sylvia did not know what to feel, shock rolled over and through her and she felt as if she was submerged at the bottom of the cold river again, everything so dark and far away. _My friend, Tyrin thought of me as a friend, and now gone, gone so soon, so quickly, so much lost_. She shivered and felt soaked in the absolutely wrongness of it. _It should have been me, not you!_ Sylvia felt that to the core of her. A human life was worth so much more than that of a half-human half-yoma. That was a truth held deep in her, for there was no happiness in a life such as hers, and all of Tyrin's had now been snuffed out. She was not ready to face it, did not think she would ever be ready to face it. She wanted to curl up in the cold with her grief and squeeze it until it was embedded in her forever, slowly and understood.

The surged of approaching yoki left her no choice.

Sylvia felt it, and she had to stand, to turn, and to blink through tear-filled eyes at Katherine's approach, leisurely now, picking leaves and twigs off her and throwing them disdainfully to the ground. Covered in those verdant remnants it was impossible to hide her monstrous nature, the demonic animal thing she had awakened into.

"The human's sword?" Katherine gave a tooth-filled smirk, looking past to where Tyrin lay. "That's far too quick, I was going to make her suffer and scream and beg me for death for wrecking my plans. I guess I'll have to use you instead."

Racquel had slowly edged away from Sylvia as Katherine advanced, trying to move to the side, to widen the arc of attack, to provide some semblance of flanking. It was a desperate and perhaps useless move, and Sylvia no longer really cared, she was not paying attention to that.

Katherine laughed, and Racquel attacked. Sylvia moved with her comrade, doing her best to support, but it seemed ill-considered, doomed to failure.

The cleaver blades moved with Katherine, shifting even as Racquel spun low, bending her body till her legs were almost flat to the ground in an attempt to come under those defenses.

The attempt failed, as Racquel's blade clanged off the hanging and rising cleavers, no elongated to wrap about in a cross meeting, holding back the blow. Katherine's arm came down in a brutal counterstroke, slamming palm-first into the young warrior's side. Ribs cracked and Racquel grunted in pain, slamming to the ground with a hideous thud some distance away. She tried to rise, but could only muster the breath to leverage herself up halfway by holding herself against her sword.

Sylvia's attack was likewise stymied by those cleaver-limbs, but something odd happened. She was still holding Tyrin's sword, having not thought to let go of it. Reflexively she stabbed past those descending limbs with it as she attacked.

The attack went unblocked. This made no difference, ultimately, for Tyrin's sword was much shorter than a Claymore's blade, and with the much longer weapon blocked steel was halted over a handspan from flesh as Sylvia had to give up the attack and dodge away. She succeeded in this, for the counterstroke had not been focused upon her but Racquel. _Odd_, Sylvia noted, her mind latching on to anything at al distracting in the fog that held it now. _Why didn't she block one blow with the upper cleaver and the other with the lower? It should have been easy._ As Katherine turned to advance upon her, Sylvia observed the awakened being's motions again, and there she saw it. _She can only move those blades in tandem! Both the upper and lower on the right side strike toward the same target._

It was immediately clear to the half-human half-yoma warrior that should the awakened one wish, that would not have been a limitation, but it would have taken training to develop the proper method, and she had not bothered. She had not learned the lesson Tyrin had taught her, that natural strength can be a lie, can create sloppiness, and lead to a weakness that might be exploited.

Sylvia had wanted to slowly, carefully, sort through her grief, to understand and reconcile herself to all that was happening, to find someplace deep inside to bury and accept. That was not to be, in that moment, in that realization everything burned into her, the memories of Tyrin, and of Jessica and Lynne, of all the disgusting alliance of humans and yoma, and the suffering and trouble it had brought, seared into her memory, flame hot and ever clear in their pain. Her sorrow burned away, transformed into a core of molten embers engraved deep down.

As Katherine approached leisurely, utterly confident of defeating this last weak warrior, Sylvia stood steady. She was still hopeless, but somehow, that there was nothing to hope for no longer mattered. _Hope is for warriors and knights; a soldier, a hunter, just continues with the job._

"Why did you betray the organization?" Sylvia demanded of Katherine.

"Betray?" the awakened being stopped, her guttural distorted voice filled with actual surprise. "Betray them? Those vultures dressed in black? The men who prodded us, transformed us, used us like beasts, and then held us back from our potential while taking all the gains for themselves? How could I possibly betray them? They are rotten to the core! You call me a monster? Look at them!"

"Ah," Sylvia said, and it was all terribly clear to her in that moment. "All of that may be true, but it is meaningless."

"What?" Katherine appeared stunned.

"You think you're taking revenge upon the organization, don't you?" Sylvia was not asking a question, she did not need the look on Katherine's face for confirmation. "You think they did something to you, or treated you too badly, or sent you off to be killed, and for that they should die," she shook her head slowly. "They may have indeed done such things, done all sorts of horrible things to us, I don't trust them at all, but that doesn't matter." She continued, her voice growing louder without even realizing it. "It doesn't matter because our lives really belong to them. They took us orphans, who would have died otherwise, and gave us lives again; gave us lives, twisted though they might be, and a charge, a task to perform. You've betrayed that charge, and forsaken what you owe. You can't win here, because you have no cause, no grounds, no right to be fighting against us!"

"Really?" Katherine sneered. "And what cause do you have to oppose me? Your orders from those corrupt men?"

"No," Sylvia's voice was frozen. "I have the simplest and most reasonable of all causes: Vengeance for the death of my Friend!" Yoki burst forth from Sylvia with that invocation, a tremendous amount, surging and powering her muscles, her legs, making everything sharper, quicker, stronger. Her body distorted, bending and rippling as muscles grew, bones thickened, and the mouth broadened into a feral maw.

"Oh? So you'll awaken yourself just to kill me?" Katherine laughed again. "What was all that you said against betrayal then?"

"Awaken?" Sylvia snapped. "Fool, I have worn this uniform and carried this sword for almost ten years. You think I do not know exactly what my limits are?"

She did not wait for a response, but dashed to the side, running wide, circling around.

Katherine spun, and her fingers slashed out from both hands, clawing through the air.

Sylvia blocked, wielding Tyrin's blade like a shield, blocking close in, holding her guard tight as she had been taught, forcing Katherine to over-extend her motions, to make shifting her target impossible until the attack had already been blocked away, thereby evading what she could not have blocked on speed alone.

A moment later Sylvia dashed in, probing and seeking for a opening, but she could not find one, barely shifting back in time, blocking the downward slash of one of those cleaver blades only with crossed swords before her.

_There must be a way, there must be a way_, Sylvia searched her mind and senses as she circled about again. _There has to be a way I can land a single attack, it must be there!_ Even as she flipped back, blocking in close again and sprinting aside as Katherine tried to pin her in reach of those cleaving extra limbs, she remembered earlier, remembered Tyrin.

_Inside, inside is the key! Inside with a quick attack her arms are too long, and there is a window_, Sylvia could see it, could plan it. She would have to dash in and then launch a powerful attack from a standstill, something strong enough to kill.

Hurled back again with enough for to make her arms shake from the block, even with all the yoki strength she could summon, Sylvia knew she could not wait, it would have to be soon. _But how to I get inside those cleavers?_ There seemed to be no way.

Then she remembered. _They can only block one attack_. It would normally be meaningless, for how could she land an extra attack, but now, for the first time since experiments long ago in training, Sylvia found herself holding two swords. _There is a way…I can get in close, make the attack from there, just as Tyrin did…just as she did?_

Sylvia knew the technique of Mist Phantom, and now, with her yoki at her limits, she was sure she could perform it effectively, but she wore no shield, and she would not have both swords at the critical moment.

It seemed hopeless, as she barely sidestepped a flying cleaver limb from below that clipped her thigh, stinging and drawing a slow stream of blood. _If only those cleavers were not there! It's impossible!_

Hopelessness stretched on the edge of despair again, but Sylvia glanced over at Racquel's crumpled form and Tyrin's body, prone upon the ground, and she recalled the human woman's face, and that of Jessica, and Lynne, and knew that she was not allowed to despair, because they would not have accepted it. So, as she came about to Katherine, rotating as far to the side as the awakened being would allow her to go, delving into her memory, Sylvia attacked anyway.

She hurled Tyrin's sword with her left hand, spinning it through the air slightly off-angle to her, so when the cleave blade closed to block it above and below she slid past it.

Katherine's arms descended, but their arc was too wide, and they could not catch Sylvia in her burst of speed. The Claymore slammed her feet down, feeling the pain lance through her so recently smashed legs, and stopped, knowing she had one moment of movement.

Ever-so-carefully, suspended in the yellow world of yoki-saturation, Sylvia's sword came up and inside, passing beneath her arm and shoulder.

The Claymore's body snapped up and forward and the blade moved in that split second attack, quicker than the awakened one could follow to dodge or block.

Sylvia's great blade screamed forward, pressing momentarily with all its force against her own arm, and then ripping free to slash through Katherine above the hips, cutting the awakened being cleanly in two.

As she landed Sylvia threw her head back and raised the devastated, mangled stump of her left arm to the sky, and screamed with all her anguish and pain until she had no breath in her body and the yoki's wrathful embrace fell away, subsumed beneath feelings at last under control once more.

Sylvia never noticed Racquel's stumbling limp over to her as the younger warrior caught her up in one arm before her body collapsed in exhaustion.

Chapter Notes: I considered breaking this up into sections, but I feel it works better as one brutal formidable, unrelenting moment. Besides, climaxes should be _big_, right?


	22. TwentySecond Stroke: Gathered Lessons

Twenty-Second Stroke – Gathered Lessons

**Twenty-Second Stroke – Gathered Lessons**

Luny arrived on the third day after the battle had ended. Sylvia watched him approach as she sat lying on the grass in front of the two graves. One had a sword stuck through it as a memorial, the other did not.

Sylvia simply sat and waited as the man in black approached, walking swiftly but not hurrying, never hurrying, coming in his own good time, making when he got somewhere the time he needed to be there. Racquel did not sit idly, but paced around, her nervousness evident, and her eyes still raw.

The young Claymore wore her grief more openly than Sylvia, and with nothing to do here but mull over it, it had sunk into her face somewhat, but she was recovering. The memories were fading for her, Sylvia knew, while they would never fade in her own case.

No doubt it had helped Racquel to dig the graves, and to hunt down and kill the remaining yoma, and burn the bodies of the Black Wings, and such other tasks. Sylvia, her left arm only slowly regenerating from the terrible wound she had inflicted on it, had been hard pressed even to carry Jessica's body to here from the town, and had been unable to help otherwise. It was shameful, but one hand could hardly wield a shovel effectively.

When the man in black reached the small rise he simply stared in silence for a moment, saying nothing. Then he spoke, in the usual gravely voice, though it seemed oddly open, for it was still early in the day, and without shadows all things about him seemed somehow clearer. "The job is complete then?" his tone was perfunctory, but an answer was necessary.

"Yes," Raquel answered, as was proper, for she was now in command as number twenty-six, a number Sylvia suspected would be lessened before too long. "The awakened one, Katherine, is dead, the yoma killed or fled far, and the Black Wings dead or scattered."

"Good," Luny's tone was curt. "The other teams coming will sweep through here for yoma soon enough, and the surviving mercenaries should know to keep their mouths shut, and otherwise, can be bribed or silenced. So he job is successfully completed." He paused, and slowly looked over the graves. "Katherine was the awakened one you said? I recall that name, something useful to know. The losses are a pity, but they must be borne."

"I hardly believe it, you actually almost sound as if you care Luny," Sylvia surprised herself by speaking about it.

"Why shouldn't I care?" the man in black shot back, his voice carrying more emotion than it almost ever did. "This whole sordid affair was never something I liked. Single digits, especially sane ones, aren't easy to come by," he paused again, looking from Jessica's grave to Tyrin's, and then back to Sylvia. "Besides," he said slowly. "You warriors are bred for this, it's your purpose, if it claims you, well, that's what happens, death awaits you one way or another anyway, but this is different." He shook his cowled head. "I cannot know for certain, but this may be the very first time a human has died in battle fighting for the organization's goals. Even if her reasons were personal, it still counts, and I'd never expected to face something like this. It provides a new perspective that must be considered carefully. Still, a shame, this is what comes of a human stepping into the world of yoma. It is always destined to end badly, that is why you exist, after all."

"Good," Sylvia spoke sternly, her tone clearly surprising Racquel, who gave a small start. "See that you don't forget."

The man in black's gaze turned to Sylvia and to the sword and shield that lay beside her with her doffed armor. "She gave you those then?" he questioned, though he obvious could tell the answer.

"As she was dying from her wounds, yes," Sylvia managed.

"She taught you to use them, correct?"

"She did," Sylvia glared at him, no tears threatened, they had dried up with Katherine's death, if not before, and now she could wield the grief of her memories as a weapon. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Luny replied steadily, unmoved by the harsh expression on the warrior's face. "I will petition the organization for your right to use them in missions; it will surely be approved, considering you can use them. No doubt that has something to do with your survival of this whole affair. If a weapon is useful, use it, that's sufficient."

"What do we do next?" Racquel asked, sensing a break in the discussion.

"Since the task is done, you return to your own areas and your ordinary duties," Luny explained. "There is no need to hurry, considering the long walk back and any injuries you might have, you can take your time. You'll be given a new job once you've returned."

"Of course," Racquel nodded, as if she had almost expected something else, but finally realizing that for Claymores, it always goes on as it had before. "Is that all then?"

"Essentially," Luny muttered, and then stopped, raising his head. "One minor thing, since you recognized the awakened being, I'm assuming she appeared in the human form she once had. She didn't by chance still have her sword did she?" He made that odd three fingers forward poking gesture of his at the pair.

"Jessica shattered it," Racquel said.

"We threw the pieces into the river," Sylvia added, for they had, along with the pieces of Katherine's body, not wanting the crows to infest this place.

"She broke it?" Luny seemed slightly surprised. "Interesting, well that is acceptable."

"I suppose then," Racquel spoke slowly, somberly. "That we had best go. There is no reason to stay and bother the herders any further." She walked up to Sylvia and drew her sword.

Standing, the older warrior repeated the gesture, and they crossed blades together. "I am glad I met you, and everyone else," Racquel said quietly, neither sad nor smiling. "In time, I hope we meet again."

"I will look forward to that reunion," Sylvia said carefully. "It is my belief that you can become a great warrior Racquel, you will do well."

The young warrior almost blushed slightly as she sheathed her blade, and then turned and walked away slowly, angling slightly northward to the road that would take her home to her own yoma-hunting grounds.

"So it ends," Luny intoned, perhaps only half-serious. "One crisis for the organization averted. Not a bad achievement for the number thirty-eight, you should be proud."

"There is nothing to be proud of in this," Sylvia shook her head. "Our work is not something of pride, but I will not forget this, or those who died. Tyrin asked me, so I will remember it, it will remain. Do you understand that Luny?"

"Of course," the man in black answered, and slowly her raised his right hand to his cowl and tilted it back, carefully revealing his bald and wrinkled skull. "You should not underestimate me, Sylvia. I will not forget either."

Sylvia gasped at what she saw there, running along the temple to end just above the ear, was a long, white line: the scar Tyrin had inflicted when she struck him.

"You carry one reminder, I carry another," the man in black pulled his cowl back down. "We are neither of us yet beyond learning something new. You should remember that lesson from this as well."

As Luny turned and walked away Sylvia felt the deep resentment she had carried at the man in black for sending on this mission slowly begin to fade. Not that she liked Luny, or would ever trust him, but she thought she could see now that though he might be uncaring, he was not especially cruel or spiteful. Of course, she would not trust that intuition either.

Slowly Sylvia turned to the graves, recalling Jessica's stern and silent face, Lynne's energetic and snappy manner, and most of all Tyrin's steady companionship. "Warriors, and friends, we were," she said quietly in the open air. "I failed you, I let you be drawn into our world, and you died from it, but, but you said we were worthy of love, even if you couldn't give it yourself. Knowing that much, I will bear these memories. Forever."

Strapping on her armor slowly, carefully with only the one hand, Sylvia added two new steps for the first of many times to come. She buckled the sword-belt for that wide curving sword, and strapped the shield to her left arm. Thereafter she headed out, not looking back. One day, eventually, there would be time to return here, to see the woman with gray eyes who had given her a life twice over, but few now, the work of the silver-eyed witches was undone.

**End.**


	23. Afterword

Afterword

**Afterword**

So, that's it for Silver Gray, at least for the moment. It clocks in at about 87,000 words and took slightly over 8 months to complete. To my knowledge it is the longest Claymore fanfiction written to date (at least in English) and it twice as long as the next longest story on (not that length is a measure of quality or anything, just kind of a funny stat).

I'm actually really proud of this story, at least as proud of any fanfiction or even original fiction I've ever written. It was a real challenge to do and do well, but I think I succeeded with most of the goals I set out to accomplish, which is good, and I made a story that was worth reading, which is even better.

I was inspired to write this because I was just so very impressed with Claymore as a creation, with how much could be taken from this ultimately relatively simple idea, and I really just wanted to get a chance to explore that world some. So this piece was really written in tribute to Claymore, which separates it from much of my other fanfiction, especially the Naruto stuff, which was written rather out of disgust. The story I set out to write here was one that I hoped, if Norihiro Yagi was to ever read (obviously that's not going to happen, but hypothetically) he'd think, 'yeah, this fits what I was trying to do.' So the themes I was writing about are mostly the ones in Claymore itself, the isolation of the half-human half-yoma, their struggle to keep themselves together, suspicion of everyone and everything, and so on.

Obviously this story is different from the fanfiction norms in that it involves entirely original characters and is in fact set years before the main storyline occurs. That was partly out of tribute to Claymore as well, I simply did not want to interfere at all with what was happening in the main plot, I like it too much, but it was also out of a sense that by telling it earlier I could have something significant to the world happen without having it seem like nothing compared to the whole Abyssal Ones thing that's presently happening. So I went with the whole Yoma+Humans crisis, which I think worked out very well, and interestingly, when humans do end up fighting an awakened being as in the most recent manga chapters, they use similar mass fire tactics to the ones I put out, which is a nice thing to have happen.

There were two really big challenges to this story beyond getting the feel of Claymore correct. The first was the characters, more detail on that later, and the second was how much of a mystery much of Claymore is. There's an awful lot the reader does not yet know about the world, like what the men in black are, where the yoma come from, what the wounds on the front of the Claymores look like, and so on, so working around all of that, and making believable things happen within the mystery was really tricky, but I think I hit on some good solutions.

About the characters:

Obviously, this is a character-focused story so the characters were the key, and the trickiest part. I'm a guy, so it's always hard to write believable females, especially when they're so altered but are still supposed to be 'women,' and this was made doubly difficult by highly similar nature of so many Claymores. So, some things worked excellently, and some things didn't work quite as well. I mention character themes for each character because I find it fitting and inspiring.

One thing of note: as some people may have guessed, Tyrin is inspired by a character in the game Valkyrie Profile: Silmeria, or actually two. Specifically Tyrith, and Celes, (obviously, her sister Celeca takes more from Celes). In point of fact, almost all the Claymore characters draw at least a little something from that game, with the exception of Katherine. This is mostly cosmetic stuff, since the Einheriar characters in the game only have a handful of in-battle lines, but it was useful to come up with hairstyles from something that was already designed for medieval warrior women, and led to some cool minor inserts, and it gave me something to work with for Tyrin's armor and weapons.

Sylvia: I'm quite proud of Sylvia as my lead character. She's a complex and involved person, and I think I was able to gradually convey that while still allowing her relationships with others to be real and even have their own established quirks after a while. Sylvia's inspiration is her relative formality, how she doesn't cuss or bark out and tries to speak with good diction, which I felt was interesting for a Claymore. She's also an analytical character, always thinking and considering, and hesitating to a degree that's really not seen in many of the characters in the actual manga. She's not physically powerful and even though she achieves some very heroic things in the end, it's through adopting the tricks and skills of others in a way that fits her. I tried very hard to make her not be a knock off of Clare but have her own identity and I think that worked.

Sylvia is very loosely linked to Sylphide in Valkyrie Profile Silmeria, essentially they have the same hair and similar figures, but otherwise she's all original.

Sylvia's theme is Bare Grace Misery by Nightwish

Tyrin: Ah, Tyrin. It's interesting, when I started this I knew I had to have a human character, because I story about Claymores just bouncing around with other Claymores doing what they do wouldn't work very well, because they've all been trained to act and think in sort of the same way. However, I didn't want a character like Raki, who could do nothing but be there for relationships. Tyrin is instead based a lot off the two warriors of Rabona in that she's very skilled in human terms and able to help and even tip the balance occasionally in Claymore fights, but is ultimately very vulnerable. I wanted Tyrin to be female from the outset because I wanted to avoid casting the story in terms that were at all romantic. I was going for friendship, not lovers, and that was the simplest way to do it. It worked out well because it allowed for a few cool things like Sylvia and Tyrin switching roles and so on. Tyrin is a more dynamic character than any of the Claymore's because her personality is broader, she has a greater range of moods and expressions than they do, as I strived to make her seem like the natural, ordinary, level-headed one because she's not fighting yoma instincts all the time. It makes her a little mysterious as well, because the story being told from Sylvia's perspective never really pierces what Tyrin's truly thinking.

I suspect some people may be disappointed that Tyrin died, but I felt it was necessary, and I knew I was going to do it from way back in the beginning. It's part of the crux of the relationship, is that neither can truly see the other fully until they're ripped apart from each other, also Sylvia needed Tyrin's skills and her sword in order to survive.

Tyrin is strongly inspired by Tyrith from Valkyrie Profile Silmeria, as she looks like her, wears her armor, and fights like her, though Mist Phantom, the trick attack that plays a large role here, is actually one of Celes' moves (they have the same general style as Tyrith claimed to be Celes' descendent, which is why Tyrin's sister is Celeca).

Tyrin's theme is Glory by Kamelot

Lynne: Lynne ends up being a minor character in the story, simply because she dies fairly quickly. However, I was happy with her relatively brief appearances and how she played off of Sylvia. Lynne's direct nature and even recklessness is in direct contrast to Sylvia's caution and formality. I also wanted to have two Claymore character's who simply did not get along but worked together anyway out of a sense of responsibility. I was very proud of Lynne's death sequence, which was a bitter challenge to compose.

Lynne is based loosely of Lwyn from Valkyrie Profile Silmeria, and they share looks and to some extent I drew Lynne's personality off of a few brief quips. The line Lynne says before she dies 'And you can tell me how great I am later' is one of the lines Lwyn uses when she's victorious in battle (it was just too fitting there).

Lynne's theme is All That I'm Living For by Evanescence

Jessica: to hunt an awakened being you have to have a single digit, which brings me to Jessica. I chose to build Jessica as a quiet, stoic character largely because I didn't want her to dominate the action. By having her avoid conversation I could let the others get into more natural conversations, as opposed to just taking her orders all the time, similar to how Miria often doesn't talk that much around the canon group because they tend to fall silent when she speaks. Jessica's role is small as a result, but I tried to make her endearing in her relatively few speeches and through creative use of her silence and her expressions. I also worked in the idea of her as the sort of the 'Claymore ideal' in that she doesn't question, doesn't act up, and generally just kills things like she's told to with nothing greater to it than that. Jessica's Whirling technique is sort of based of Jeanne's, just extending to move sideways in large arcs instead of really tiny ones. I was actually quite proud of coming up with that as it seemed fitting for the setting but not copying something someone else was using.

The demands of the story, somewhat unfortunately, call for Jessica's death, and I tried to do it in a way that didn't make her look awful, just like someone who was deceived at the wrong moment. I'm not sure how well that worked out.

Jessica is based off, well, Jessica, from Valkyrie Profile Silmeria, and has the same hairstyle and same very slender profile. Her personality is essentially her own though.

Jessica's theme is Silent Goddess by Kamelot

Racquel: the defining feature of Racquel is that she's young, which was an idea introduced with Priscilla, but one I wanted to explore more, since all of the other Claymores in the series tend to be somewhat veteran (except for Clarice, but she's largely defined by her weakness). I'm quite happy with what I was able to do with Racquel and how the story carried her along even if her overall role wasn't that large. Having a fresh-faced Claymore to whom this was all somewhat new and frightening was helpful and was also useful to set up a contrast of how Sylvia had to try and deal with this person who was nominally her superior, but really wasn't ready to take that role socially, which was a fun wrinkle. Racquel's nature also made her very well suited to survive through the end without pulling the focus towards her in any major way.

Racquel is based off Richelle from Valkyrie Profile Silmeria, and shares the fact that she's extremely good looking and the silvery hair with that character, as well as the sense of innate grace.

Racquel's theme is Eva by Nightwish

Katherine: as the villain of the piece Katherine is the character I'm probably the least happy with. I feel she's a bit too erratic and monstrous, but there was no really effective way to go beyond that. Her final little conversation with Sylvia and some of her actions hint at this, but ultimately the threat she represents is far more the plan she's concocted rather than the woman herself (which was why she came up with the plan in the first place). Much of the problem here is I don't feel I described her well enough in awakened form, but that's such a tremendous descriptive challenge I'm not sure how to do it better at this point.

Katherine's theme is Violator by Son of Rust

Luny: five girls and one guy who's probably not human, how's that for a gender balance? Yet, strangely, though he was the hardest character by far to deal with, given the great enigma that is the men in black, Luny is perhaps the character I'm most happy with. Though he only bounces in and out of the story, all his appearances are significant and I was able to evolve a distinctive philosophy for him that defines his character. He's different from some of the other men in black in the series, particularly Rubel, in that he's up front as opposed to manipulate to the Claymores. He doesn't string them along or toy with them, he just want the job to be done. I like how that worked out as I felt it made several scenes, especially Lynne's death, much better because of it.

Luny's theme is Amaranth by Nightwish

That's all for now, but I'll say this for those who had the patience to read this far: while this is an ending to a story, it is not necessary the final ending. I'm not sure if or when it would happen, but I may eventually get around to writing more of Sylvia's story, which extends further on and starts intersecting with canonical events fairly soon (ie. Luciela's awakening), but there's no promises for the present.


End file.
